


I Mean To Cause No Trouble For You (That Is The Story Of My Life)

by SlightlyTwistedSilverware, WelshWitch1011



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Blood and Violence, Ethan/Vanessa, F/M, FIx It, Horror, Mild Smut, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romance, Supernatural Elements, Vanessa Resurrected, We're Still Angry About That Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2018-11-22 14:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 46,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11382075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlightlyTwistedSilverware/pseuds/SlightlyTwistedSilverware, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WelshWitch1011/pseuds/WelshWitch1011
Summary: Death did not bring Vanessa Ives the peace she sought. (Series Finale Fix-It) *Complete*





	1. Drove Me Like A Magnet, To the Sea.

**Author's Note:**

> Since Ethan's immortal line "Oh, for ****'s sake" essentially summed up our opinion on that hideous finale, we thought we'd have a go at fixing it.  
> Plot is our own, characters belong to Logan (though he doesn't deserve them), and lyrics belong to the ever fabulous, Stevie Nicks. 
> 
> Most probably in three parts - unless we ramble. ;)

_'Why the sad face, oh darling?_

_Was it my darkness, shadow, light?_

_I mean to cause no trouble for you_

_That is the story of my life…’_

 

 

** **

** **Drove Me Like a Magnet to the Sea** **

****x-x-x** **

The sea was wild, untameable; and in that respect, it reminded him of her.

God, what he wouldn’t give to see her again – to run his fingers through messy, raven curls, or lose himself in those eyes, where many before him had near drowned. It was beyond the realms of possibility though, and whilst that was a fact he could never see himself making peace with, it was one he had no choice but to come to accept.

Overheard, the gulls wheeled and let loose a string of frenzied cries. He startled and a cloud of sand rose up in front of him, having been disturbed by his feet. He was almost certain that he had ruined another pair of pants. Tweed didn’t tend to respond well to repeated exposure to sand and salt water. He supposed he could have bought himself a new pair but that would mean less money for booze and, just presently, that was a staple that he couldn’t do without. Anything to numb him. Anything to dull the memory of what he had done.

To his left, two little girls frolicked in the sand, their lace up boots and stockings discarded on the concrete where their parents overlooked them. Their braids bounced on the incoming sea breeze as they ran, giggling and flinging sand at each other whilst their mother called out warnings. He watched them transfixed for a while, (probably longer than was socially acceptable), but nobody seemed to be paying him much mind. Perhaps his long hair, slicked back into a ponytail, gave him the air of an eccentric artist, drawing his inspiration from the world around him. Luckily, the half empty bottle of whiskey was tucked behind his thigh out of view, lest that illusion be shattered.

He continued to watch the girls, a smile dancing across his lips even as fresh pain pricked his heart, like pins in a voodoo doll. Could they have had that? Might they have watched ruddy cheeked little girls at play, carefree and oblivious to the cruelty of the world that had preceded them? He would never know. Not now.

The ache in his heart was ever-present and the desire to drown his grief in alcohol, to lose himself in the arms of its reassuring embrace, was becoming too much to deny. Remaining numb and oblivious to life around him had become his coping mechanism over the past three months. If he allowed himself to feel any more, Ethan knew he would break, and losing control of the beast that lived within him could only bring about more death and pain. So, he would cage it, any way that he could. He owed her that much.

Beginning a slow, laboured stroll back to the boarding house, he deliberately avoided the gazes of passers-by. He felt his jaw tick at the sight of delirious honeymooners, who whirled past him arm in arm, their smiles belaying the kind of happiness that had cruelly alluded Vanessa Ives for all of her life.

The arcades and amusements that littered the promenade were populated by hordes of families and delighted couples, all caught up in the escapism of the resort, and the fresh Whitby sea air that brought many of them relief from smog infested cities.

From the corner of his eye, a figure caught his attention - a swirl of petticoats and a flash of jet black securing his gaze. He blinked hurriedly and for just a moment her face appeared before him, familiar ice blue eyes locked on his, conjuring the memory of the vestiges of her smile.

“ _ _Vanessa__ …” He whispered her name aloud, searching through the crowds even as he realised the beguiling spectre was most likely a consequence of the copious amounts of liquor he had consumed.

It took him less than a second to decide to pursue her, and he was soon moving through the throngs at speed, pushing disgruntled gentlemen out of his way without a thought. The figure of the woman weaved through the amusement arcade, her fingertips lingering over the tops of the penny machines as she passed by. Ethan moved faster, urging himself on with her name echoing in his mind like a mantra. She seemed almost close enough to touch and yet when he reached out, fingers grasping for her elbow, they found purchase on the sleeve of another woman instead – one who was not purely the apparition of an addled mind. She spun around in surprise, her eyes widening as she took in Ethan’s dishevelled appearance.

“Laura! Let go of my wife!” the man at her side immediately protested, reaching out in his outrage and shoving Ethan back hard with one hand. Unprepared for the move, Ethan stumbled hard into a nearby machine, almost toppling it as he struggled to right himself.

“Sorry…” he managed to slur, shaking his head as he observed the woman, “I thought… I thought you were someone…”

The woman’s husband ran his eyes over Ethan’s slightly hunched figure with open disgust, his lip even curling as he observed the state of his clothing. It took him just a moment to rummage in his trouser pocket and produce a couple of pennies, which he thrust into Ethan’s hand without warning.

“Here, take these, find yourself something to eat and… sober up,” the man advised, although his tone and accompanying sneer suggested he was more irked than moved by Ethan’s imagined plight.

Reeling back, feeling the colour drain from his face, Ethan beat a hasty retreat. He could easily hear the revolted young woman’s mutterings about the stench of alcohol on her would-be attacker’s breath and for a moment he was truly ashamed.

Suddenly cursing aloud as his hip connected with the glass casing of one of the curiosity machines that lined the entrance to the arcade, he found himself staggering back at the sight of a mechanical fortune teller. __‘Madame Mystique’__  the name inscribed on a golden plaque read.

The mannequin head was adorned with a mop of raven curls, and its almond shaped eyes stared at him from behind impossibly blue glass that reminded him so much of Vanessa that he felt the air rush from his lungs.

Raising a shaking hand to the worn button on the front of the machine, he pushed one of the coins in his hand into the slot purely on impulse. The machine whirled into life, a curious light appearing behind the lifeless eyes of the doll’s head. Slowly, a card emerged from the slot, soon followed by another. And another.

A cascade of cards began to rain from the machine, landing on Ethan’s sand encrusted boots until over a dozen littered the surrounding floor. Catching one in his trembling hand, he lifted it up to read the words printed there.

__“All things end. With love.”_ _

Ethan felt the bile rise in the back of his throat and before he truly knew what he was doing, he was searching the other cards that littered the ground to discern their messages. Each one he found infuriatingly blank and so Ethan wasted no time in jamming the other penny into the machine, whispering nonsense under his breath as he did so.

“Come on,” he grunted, frustration mounting by the second as he watched the mannequin’s entire rigmarole begin again. Ferociously and with a fist slammed against the fragile panel of glass, Ethan yelled, “Come on!”

Several heads turned in his direction and at least one parent ushered their offspring away from the foul smelling, irrationally behaving man, but there wasn’t a part of Ethan that cared even a little bit. He pressed his forehead against the machine, breathing hard as he waited. When the card finally popped out of the slot, Ethan grabbed at it and raised it to eye level with the promise of tears already burning the back of his throat.

A single Tarot card. The Lovers.

“Vanessa…” he whispered, the name tumbling from his lips on a strangled sob.

He stood motionless in front of the Fortune Teller, angrily brushing moisture from his eyes as he wondered just why this mechanical device seemed intent on tormenting him. He was sure Dr. Seward would be able to explain it all away; his own guilt, his paralysing grief, the inordinate amount of alcohol coursing through his system.

Ethan couldn’t later recall the walk back to the boarding house, with the two cards clenched in his hand until they became dog-eared and battered. When he finally crawled into bed, he made sure to down enough whiskey to silence the pain that gnawed at him. He slept fitfully then, his body prostrate on the top of the bed, coat and hat thrown haphazardly on the floor.

His dreams had been non-existent of late. His brain was anaesthetised by the whisky and bourbon that allowed only for restless, dreamless sleep, which left him feeling even more weary upon waking.

The ticking of the clock on the mantle and the sound of the breeze creeping in through the open window was slowly joined by another more familiar sound; a voice that called out to him from somewhere unreachable.

He was vaguely aware of the caress of a hand upon his forehead and he leant into the touch as much as he dared.

“Lie still, my love,” she whispered, and he squeezed his eyelids so tightly closed against the sting of grief that it was impossible for the tears he harboured to leak from his eyes.

He grasped for her hand and let out a groan when his fingers truly found purchase on hers. She was not an apparition. Not this time, at least.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he hissed, eyes still closed. He feared that if he dared open them, she would be gone; fragmented, like his own tortured mind.

“You did only as I asked,” she murmured. Her lips were upon the apple of his cheek seconds later and he could do nothing to contain the broken sob that burst forth from his chest.

“Vanessa…” he moaned, feeling her brush the tip of her nose against his. He could almost smell her; the intoxicating mixtures of incense and crushed herbs that clung to her - a very different perfume to the ones other women wore. He didn’t want other women though. He never could, with the memory of Vanessa Ives causing them all to seem pale and wan in contrast.

“Shhh,” she urged him, and he was certain he could feel her breath upon his skin, “I asked too much of you. It was too great a sacrifice… too great a weight to place upon you. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Unable to respond with any more than a sob of anguish, Ethan gripped her small hand in his own, as if sheer will alone could tug her from his dreams and back into his arms for good. He heard her sigh, as if it pained her to speak the following words aloud.

“But… I must ask you once again to help me. You must find me, Ethan. My soul is lost, untethered.”

Her words suddenly sobered him up until he was hanging on every last utterance. “I’d do anything for you, Van, you know that.”

Her voice began to fade, and slowly but surely the sensation of her skin against his began to ebb away, leaving him with nothing but a whispered plea in his ear.

“Where are you?” he asked desperately, looking around the empty recesses of his dream world, “Vanessa? Vanessa?”

He shouted her name over and over, begging the spectre to return, but consciousness had already begun to tug at him.

A sudden banging on the door of his room wrenched him from his dream, and simultaneously ripped him away from the woman he loved. But as his eyes flashed open, one word echoed ominously in his ear.

“ _Purgatory_.”

The furious pounding of his heart was matched by the violent pounding on the bedroom door, and Ethan cursed as he swung his legs over the side of the mattress. He hardly remembered removing his boots and socks but his feet were bare and he hissed as his toes connected with the cold floorboards.

“Open up! Open up now, I say,” a shrill, unpleasant voice demanded. Ethan rolled his eyes and hastened to the door before the unwelcome visitor busted it wide open with the assault of their fists.

When he yanked it open, he was greeted by the sight of the boarding house owner - a stout woman with brown hair that was badly greying at the temples. She crossed her arms over her bosom and affixed Ethan with a scowl that would have made a lesser man recoil.

“I want you out within the hour,” she snapped, forgoing any attempt at pleasantries. Ethan could hardly blame her if he were at all honest with himself. He was far from the ideal tenant, stumbling back at all hours of the night and morning reeking of booze, falling behind in his payments, and disturbing the other guests with his frequent night terrors.

“Ma’am, I…” Ethan began, rubbing at his temples as he squinted across the dimly lit corridor at the woman. Her frown indicated that she was unlikely to be moved by anything that came out of Ethan’s mouth.

“Gather your things, if you have any, and get out, or I’ll be fetching the police,” she snarled, obviously not cowed by Ethan’s towering, broad shouldered frame in the slightest.

Suddenly finding himself filled with a renewed sense of purpose, Ethan nodded his head in ready agreement - something that seemed to surprise his hostess, who proceeded to eye him with evident suspicion.

“I’ll be gone before supper,” he affirmed, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Leaving her no time to counter his proposal, he slammed the door closed, hurriedly picking up his previously discarded coat and hat, and beginning to gather up the meagre items he had brought with him. He tossed them quickly into a worn leather bag that still bore the markings of war and the blistering sun of New Mexico.

Yelling through the wood, the landlady huffed, “Well make sure that you are! I have someone waiting on the room. A writer type… though he can’t possibly be any worse at paying his way than you.”

Suddenly recognising the sensation of crumpled paper in his hand, Ethan opened his left palm and blew out an unsteady breath as his gaze came to rest on the image of the Tarot card. As he ran a fingertip over the entwined lovers, his jaw set in determination. He slipped it into his pocket, swallowing hard.

“Okay, Vanessa,” he murmured into the shadows, his eyes sweeping them as he spoke, as though he half expected to catch movement somewhere within the corners of the room, “I’m listening. You got my attention.”

When there was no response, he let out a puff of breath that almost resembled laughter. Perhaps he was simply going mad. Driven by his grief and one too many large bourbons that should have been watered down.

He was met by only silence, save for the hustle and bustle that drifted to his ears from the nearby promenade. His thumb absently stroked the card but he refrained from other movement, turning over the events of the last few hours in his mind. He knew Vanessa well - perhaps better than anyone else ever had - and he doubted that even death could thwart her level of determination. But he had been there, during those last painful and cruel moments. Hadn’t she assured him that peace was imminent? That finally, she would obtain the rest that she so readily deserved?

__“Ethan… I can see our Lord…”_ _

It had to be only coincidence. Surely there was no other explanation. And yet, it was a chance he couldn’t take. Not if her very soul relied upon it.

The next train to London left two hours later. Ethan Chandler made sure to be on it.

 

****x-x-x** **

 

Glancing up at the window that had once been Vanessa’s bedroom, Ethan had to remind himself not to expect to find her watchful presence peering back at him. Grandage Place was relegated to darkness, and the street lamps provided the only source of illumination in the entire street. There was no visible sign of life, no sounds, no indication that Sir Malcolm had not been plunged into the very same despair Ethan found himself in. Ethan had indeed lost the love of his life, but the older man had lost a daughter.

Slamming his fist unrelentingly against the wooden door, Ethan found his patience fleeting as he awaited a response. Eventually the door swung open, and a dishevelled, somewhat irritable Sir Malcolm regarded his visitor with poorly concealed annoyance.

“Mr. Chandler…” he ground out, and Ethan noted just how old and world weary the former explorer appeared. The grey at his temples was more pronounced, and the lines and circles around his eyes betrayed his haunted demeanour. His entire being radiated sadness and a lifetime of loss.

Pushing past his former employer and friend, Ethan marched into the hallway, dropping his bag onto the ground with a thud.

“Vanessa. She needs our help,” he began, holding up his hand as he saw Sir Malcolm poised to counter his claim with a short, sharp dose of reality. “I’m not crazy, I’m not drunk… Just hear me out.”

“Ethan,” Sir Malcolm released his name on a sigh, “I know you miss her. We all do.”

“This isn’t about that,” Ethan said dismissively, suddenly filled with the clarity of mind that having a purpose brings.

“Of course it’s about that,” Malcolm scoffed, and he sank down onto the nearest chaise lounge as though his legs were suddenly too weak to support him. “What you did, Ethan… what you found yourself having to do will…”

“No, I am not here because of that, she needs me,” he persisted, shaking his head and setting his jaw as he glared at the other man, languishing in his chair, “Vanessa reached out to me from the other side. Her soul…”

“Is in heaven, if we are to believe that such a place even exists,” snarled Sir Malcolm, and Ethan found himself staring askance back at his once friend.

“After everything we have seen, you can still doubt that?” demanded Ethan, his tone laced with obvious irritation.

“Doubt the existence of a place where there is no pain and no fear, when we exist in a world so full of both that it becomes harder and harder to wade through it every day that I live? Or doubt the existence of an almighty God, who might be concerned with my own happiness or well being, when everything and everyone I have ever loved has been stripped away from me?” he hissed, his eyes blazing with a fire that Ethan hadn’t seen in so long. “Tell me, if these things are real, why do the wicked triumph or the good fall prey to corruption? Why does famine and pestilence cover every inch of this globe like the plagues that they are? Why, Ethan, are babes snatched from their mother’s arms before they have even been weaned from her breast?”

Ethan swallowed hard, his gaze unyielding as he held Malcolm fast in it.

“You… tell me why I should not doubt it?” he finished, his eyes downcast and the shame he felt in his own words reflected in the set of his features. Undoubtedly he knew that Vanessa would disapprove.

Swallowing hard, Ethan’s jaw set in determination. “It was Vanessa. She needs us, and I won’t let her down again. So you can either help me, or you can stay out of my way. Victor’s gonna meet you at the cemetery…”

Malcolm recoiled, “The cemetery? Have you completely lost your mind? Don’t you think that poor girl deserves some peace, and you talk of desecrating her grave? I will have no part in this insanity!”

Malcolm suddenly paused, his words dying on his lips as from upstairs a loud crash reverberated throughout the entire house. The men exchanged a brief glance before each dashed out into the hallway and up the staircase.

Proceeding slowly down the darkened hall, Ethan paused in front of the door to Vanessa’s room. Without further thought, he threw it open, unsurprised and yet also disappointed to find the room in darkness. The air still somehow smelled of her, as if she had just walked out to go down to breakfast. The bed remained thrown back as she had left it, and a tea cup sat on the bedside table as if her lips had only momentarily touched the porcelain rim.

Ethan closed his eyes, overcome once more with the kind of grief that he likened to having his soul torn from his body. His eyes were still closed when the small feline darted past his legs. He opened his eyes and stared in confusion at the black cat that sauntered without care around the room before he glanced back at Malcolm for explanation.

“Keeps the mice away,” Malcolm stated, not wishing to divulge the extreme loneliness that had enveloped him in the last few months. The feline had shown up unannounced one morning, seemingly cold, hungry, lonely and unloved -  a plight that reminded the explorer of another waif and stray that had turned up on his doorstep seeking redemption.

Huffing out a sigh, the older man brushed past Ethan and trailed after the animal, meaning to remove the creature from the room that he usually sought to avoid at all costs.

“Blasted creature!”

Unmoved by her master’s irritation, the feline leapt up onto the bed, kneading and pawing at the bed covers and purring in appreciation of the soft fabric beneath her paws.

“Away, cat!” Malcolm instructed, seemingly unsurprised when the animal simply glared at him without heeding his demands. He flapped his hands at her, his best effort to shoo her away, but she merely rolled over onto first her side and then her back, as though she was deliberately courting his attention.

Ethan felt the corners of his lips lift in a smile and he was almost prompted to leave the old man to it, but something made him stay. The air felt charged, and Ethan could sense the electricity in it down to his very bones.

As Malcolm made a move to seize the dainty feline, it chose that moment to leap from the bed and onto the top of the dresser, expertly positioning itself out of reach.

Ethan bit back a chuckle, surprised by his own amusement, since any sense of mirth or fun seemed to have deserted him three long months ago.

Tutting under his breath, Malcolm moved across to the dresser, his arms outstretched and ready to receive his pet. However, before his fingers could so much as brush her fur, the cat arched its back and let out a low, throaty growl. Her emerald green eyes appeared to be locked straight ahead, peering into the mirror that hung on the wall above.

Sharply turning his head, Malcolm became aware of the hairs on the back of his neck standing erect in warning,. Finally, his gaze settled on the mirror, where he found a much mourned pair of eyes staring back at him.

“Vanessa!” he cried out, stumbling back as he regarded the pale image of the young woman in the glass. Her ghostly visage lasted for only a moment before she suddenly blinked from view.

The men barely had time to react. Almost instantly upon her disappearance the fire in the hearth sprang to life and the flames flared, along with every candle and lamp that lined the room.

Turning in desperate circles, Ethan found himself fraught with the desire to see her face just one more time. Yet almost as soon as the flames had been ignited, they were snuffed out by an unforeseen force . A gust of air billowed around the room, blowing the floor length drapes up into the air and almost sending Malcolm reeling backwards onto the floor. The cat let out a final hiss and yowl of fear before she sprang from the dresser, knocking over trinkets in her wake, and dashed out of the room.

“You saw her?” Ethan checked, panting and reaching out to place a steadying hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. The older man appeared visibly disturbed by the encounter.

“I saw her,” Malcolm confirmed gravely, allowing Ethan to lead him back towards the door whilst he was powerless to stop the unrelenting thrum of his own heart in his ears.

Their feet hadn’t crossed the threshold before an unearthly scream shattered the silence, and every picture frame, gas lamp and mirror present exploded into shards of glass.

“God Almighty…” Sir Malcolm breathed, one hand pressed over his poor heart.

“Thought you didn’t believe in him,” stated Ethan dryly, closing Vanessa’s bedroom door behind them with a quiet click. The mess could wait for the morning. They would get around to it when there were less pressing matters at hand.

“She really came to you,” Malcolm muttered, shaking his head and clasping one hand around his throat, “Vanessa came to you.”

“She did,” Ethan grimly observed, “she needs us, Malcolm. This one last time, she needs us.”

Nodding his head, Malcolm peered up at Ethan through tired, watery eyes.

Quietly, he agreed, “Then we must not let her down.”

 

 

 

 


	2. Nightbird

**_"And when I call_ **  
**_Will you walk gently_ **  
**_Through my shadow..."_ **

 

 

It was against his better judgement that Sir Malcolm stood at the graveside, acting as a party to the ghouls who worked tirelessly to unearth Vanessa from her place of, what he had assumed to be, eternal rest. He knew that he had done many bad things throughout the course of his life, but this one surely surpassed most. Had he not already cemented his own place in Hell at the right hand of the Devil, he would tonight.

With a handkerchief pressed against his nose and lips to stem the tide of his own nausea, Malcolm watched as Victor and Ethan shovelled great mounds of dirt over their shoulders. The oil lamps they had brought to light their task burned brightly in front of the gravestone, illuminating Vanessa's name as though to taunt them all. How cruel the entire situation had been, and how it would haunt Malcolm for the rest of his days.

To all intents and purposes it was his daughter that lay inside the grave, and he was loathed to observe the cruel decay and destruction that nature would have orchestrated over her once beautiful face. But his objections had fallen on deaf ears and, as he paused to draw breath, he noted that Ethan carried on without delay, furiously digging though the rain sodden earth to reach the woman he had loved.

Malcolm noted the determination on his face with a heavy heart, loathed to imagine the devastation that may befall the man once Vanessa's corpse was unearthed. In all of his life, Malcolm realised that he had never loved enough to behave so irrationally as Ethan did now. What it must be like to love to the depths of madness, he would never know. But if anybody had deserved such devotion, it had been Vanessa, and for that reason alone he would toil on through his own reservations at the task they carried out.

Looking somewhat more ashen and pale than even his companions were used to, Victor stood upright as the tip of his shovel hit the dense wood of the coffin. Glancing up to make eye contact with his friends, Victor swallowed hard, his years of medical training instilling a sense of trepidation in him over the sight that would befall them.

"Perhaps…" he began, seeking out Ethan's gaze, "perhaps I should open it."

Ethan swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he contemplated Victor's offer. Not trusting his own voice to hold out long enough for him to respond, he merely shook his head. He was determined to be the one to follow through on rescuing Vanessa; after all, he had been the one responsible for her untimely death.

"Ethan…" Malcolm began, his voice low and wavering in warning as he peered down at the young man, who was caked from head to toe in mud and dirt.

Tossing his shovel aside without offering a verbal response, Ethan instead held out one hand to Victor and pointedly waggled his fingers in a grasping motion. With his lips pursed, Victor extended the crowbar he was certain that Ethan demanded. He barely had time to clamber out of the grave before Ethan rammed the crowbar under the lid of the coffin, grunting in an exaggerated fashion with the exertion if only to break the silence that hung over them all. Sir Malcolm's disapproval was palpable and it took everything Ethan had to keep his focus on the task at hand.

Even with years of post-mortems, surgeries and his own 'experiments' under his belt, Victor averted his gaze from the coffin. Vanessa had been a friend to him in his darkest moments, and he'd rather not sully the memory of her with the vision he knew awaited them in the coffin.

Malcom too chose to turn away, his eyes closing as he heard the final grunt from Ethan and the lid of the coffin gave way with an arch crack of defiance against the metal of the crow bar. The hiss that Ethan released made Malcolm's stomach roll, and he steadied himself for the horrors that awaited his reluctant gaze. Yet as Victor's breathless cry of 'Oh my God' followed, the older man found his eyes drawn all too quickly to the depths of the grave.

Ethan stood wide-eyed, his gaze fixed on the seemingly untouched corpse of his lost love. Her face was completely unaltered by the elements and time, looking for all intents and purposes as if she were simply asleep. Her skin was pale yet perfect - no blemishes marred her porcelain complexion - and the dark circles that had stained her eyes in life were banished in death.

"Vanessa!" he choked out, wanting nothing more than to lift her into his arms. It was the other occupants of the coffin that deterred him from doing so. The three men looked on in shock and horror as seemingly hundreds of scorpions, their bodies black and glistening, poured in an endless stream around their mistress.

They seemed to avoid her face, but swarmed in deadly, black clusters around her sleeves and across the bodice of the ivory dress she had been interred in. Some even wove their way in and out of the folds of her skirt, quite oblivious to the fact that they had been rudely unearthed and were now being stared at by three horrified humans.

"What the fuck…?" Ethan hissed, his eyes narrowing as they swept every inch of the coffin, searching perhaps for some kind of clue as to the state they found Vanessa's body in.

"It is the work of the Devil," Sir Malcolm spat, his lips contorting by the summation, but rather than agree, Victor shook his head with vehemence.

"No, my friend," he whispered, grabbing a nearby oil lamp and leaning quite precariously into the grave in order to shine the light over the coffin. Where the orange rays kissed Vanessa's corpse, the scorpions scuttled away, in a mixture of fear and loathing.

Victor added in wonderment, "This is something else."

The doctor, eyes wide in shock and a morbid sense of delight, continued to stare down at the young woman in evident wonder. "Death has not touched her."

Ethan found it hard to tear his eyes away from Vanessa's form, certain now beyond any doubt that it had indeed been her that had visited him, first in Whitby then again at Grandage Place. There had to be a reason for her unsullied appearance and for the deadly-tailed guardians who kept watch over her.

"Because it wasn't her time," Ethan said determinedly. "We need to get her home. You told Mr. Lyle to meet us, right? He knows what to bring with him?"

Malcolm blinked, suddenly shaking himself from his reverie as the reality of the situation grasped hold of him. "Yes. Yes, he knows what to bring."

"Question is, how do we get her out of here without being arrested for grave robbing?" Victor began, suddenly remembering their environment and the constables who patrolled the darkness.

"Quickly," Ethan supplied. He frowned as Victor stepped closer and at once the scorpions veered forward in a rush as if warning him not to touch their mistress.

"Ethan, I want to help her as much as you but I am not at all eager to put my hands in… well… there…" he stuttered, his expression aghast at the idea of plunging himself elbow deep into a box full of deadly insects.

Ethan muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously similar to the word 'pussy' before he snatched the oil lamp from Victor's hand and deposited it firmly into Malcolm's.

"Hold the light steady," he directed, his eyes locking momentarily with his old friend's. Nodding once, with an apparently new sense of determination, Malcolm stepped forward and lay down on his stomach so that he could direct the beam of light into the coffin. Predictably, the scorpions hissed and reared, their stingers whipping to and fro above their backs in a threatening fashion. Ethan leaped into the hole without a second thought and scooped Vanessa up bridal style as though he couldn't even feel the assaults of the stray scorpions that managed to plunge their needles into his bare arms.

As he hoisted her up, grunting at the pain ricocheting up his arms, the odd scorpion fell from the folds of her dress and landed back in the coffin with a gentle plop. The sight was sickening and Victor seemed to blanch where he stood, making no move to help either Ethan or Sir Malcolm.

"Take her!" Ethan directed, lifting Vanessa's still limp body over his head, managing to marvel at the lack of rigor mortis plaguing her limbs despite the situation. Malcolm held the light steady in order to fend off their tiny, irritated foes whilst Victor finally rushed forwards to accept Vanessa's corpse.

"Sorry boys, nothing personal," Ethan drawled, noting the sickening crunch of the shiny bodies beneath the weight of his boots. Pushing himself up with his hands on either side of the grave, he climbed to his feet, noting with appreciation that Sir Malcolm seemed to have overcome his skittishness and was helping Victor place a long, heavy coat around Vanessa's body.

"It's miraculous," Victor stated, still struck by the state they had discovered their friend in, as if time had quite literally stood still around her. A stowaway scorpion darted from up her sleeve, and the doctor let out a hushed gasp as he stumbled backwards. The indignant creature reared up before scuttling off into the undergrowth, no doubt to perish in the London snow.

"Let's hope for further miracles before the night is through," Malcolm said gravely, pulling the top of the coat closed around Vanessa's throat as Ethan carried her in his arms, her head lolled against his shoulder. Hoisting her gently to get a better hold of her lifeless body, Ethan drew her closer, struck by the lingering scent of her perfume and the still softness of her skin. He had been the one to usher death upon her, and he would willingly walk through Hell itself to bring her back. This time he would not allow her to give up; he would not allow himself to be a part of any surrender.

"Stay here, fill in the grave," Ethan instructed, "I'll get her home."

"What if someone stops you?" Victor asked worriedly, "how exactly are you going to explain carrying a young woman's corpse around the streets of London?"

"I'll think of something," Ethan muttered, loathed to hear the word 'corpse' used to describe her.

Malcolm, who seemed to have drawn closer almost unconsciously, stroked the back of his hand across the apple of Vanessa's cheek; a paternal gesture that did not go unnoticed by either Victor or Ethan, the latter of whom bowed his head when a fresh wave of guilt washed over him.

"She could almost be sleeping," Malcolm murmured, voice sounding thick with emotion, "just like when she was a girl."

He remembered carrying Vanessa and Mina up the staircase to sleep side by side in a small bed almost as though it had occurred only yesterday. Now, both were gone, just like Peter, and Malcolm was left redundant in his role as father.

"We will get her back," Ethan said, and it was a vow that he spoke leaving no room for argument.

Malcolm merely nodded, not wanting to dampen the man's determination with his own lingering doubts over their plan. But he too had seen Vanessa's tormented spectre, that much he could not deny. Adding to it the mysteriously untouched state of her corpse, he allowed himself the hope that their endeavours would not be in vain.

"Go," Malcolm smiled encouragingly, "Victor and I will not be far behind."

Ethan waited for no further pleasantries, his heavy footfalls stalking across the freshly fallen snow as he carefully carried his most precious cargo towards the gates of the old cemetery, leaving behind the sound of quiet bickering, as the two men filled in the grave so as not to arouse suspicion that its inhabitant was no longer entombed within.

The icy breeze of the Winter air stung his cheeks, and he briefly mourned the stubble that had once lined his jaw.

"I've got you, darlin'. I'll make this right. I promise," he said aloud, wholly for his own benefit, and he allowed his lips to press the ghost of a kiss to the top of Vanessa's head. His steps suddenly became more urgent as the desire to see life within the body he carried became overwhelming.

Ethan's pace increased as he passed through the open wrought iron gates, holding Vanessa close as though he was attempting to shield her body from the chill with his own. However, he was forced to halt abruptly in his escape when a gruff voice called out from behind him.

"You there, stop this instant," the man demanded, and Ethan found his feet suddenly rooted to the spot, fear overcoming him for just a moment before he was able to slip a self assured mask back in place.

"Good evening, Officer," he purred as the policeman hurried around to the front of him, his eyes already roving Vanessa's body and his lips twisted into a snarl as his mind drew the very worst conclusions from what he saw.

"Speak when spoken to, Yank," he all but snarled, his hand twitching at the baton sheathed at his waist. He took a step towards Ethan, not at all cowed by the fact that the werewolf was over a head taller than him. From around his neck, a silver whistle on a string glinted, drawing Ethan's eye for a second.

"What's going on here then? Out with it quickly, and mind that I wasn't born yesterday, lad," the officer instructed, and Ethan did his best to draw his brows into an earnest expression as he glanced down at Vanessa's body then back up at the policeman. He had to remain calm if his act was to be believed and so he drew in a sharp breath in an attempt to steady himself quickly.

Affixing a patient and somewhat pejorative smile on his face, Ethan gestured down to the woman in his arms with what he hoped appeared to be amusement.

"Well you see, Officer, my wife here's gone and overdone it on the port and brandy. Passed out cold right there in the street. I just want to get her home to bed as soon as I can, don't want anyone we know to see her in this condition, right?! I tell ya, she's gonna have one hell of a headache in the morning!"

The man eyed him suspiciously, jaw set as he appeared to mull over Ethan's story, his eyes ticking occasionally to Vanessa. Leaning forward, he raised an eyebrow pointedly, "And just what were you doing walking through the cemetery at night then, eh?"

Rolling his eyes and hoping to look affronted by the question, Ethan retorted impatiently, "Officer, my wife is a lady of high social standing. She has a certain reputation to uphold. Now obviously I decided to take a short-cut through the cemetery so nobody we knew would see her in this… _sorry_ state."

The officer appeared unconvinced if the curl of his lip and the sudden narrowing of his eyes was anything to go by. He toyed dangerously with the whistle about his neck and for a moment Ethan was half afraid that he would choose to blow it to summon the presence of his colleagues.

"Look, Sir, all I want is to get my wife home to bed, safe and sound," Ethan said, striving to maintain an even tone. He peered down at Vanessa with open and unchecked affection, allowing his feelings for her to shine through in his expression in the hope that they would add weight to his story. It almost seemed to do the trick.

"Where do you live?" the officer demanded, although his tone was somewhat less hostile than it had been previously.

"We're not local. We're staying with my wife's uncle for a short spell. You may have heard of him," Ethan said, his lips curving upwards into a cordial smile as he added, "Sir Malcolm Murray."

The officer straightened up immediately, a sharp intake of breath the only other indication that he did indeed know the name well. Ethan almost breathed a sigh of relief, pleased that Malcolm's social standing appeared to have had the desired effect on the man, and given Ethan a kind of credibility that as a foreigner on the soil he may have otherwise lacked.

"Of course, of course, Sir," the policeman said hurriedly, "my apologies. I hope you understand but there are some wronguns around these days. Men exhuming corpses for all sorts of twisted purposes…"

"Does my wife look like a corpse to you, Officer?" Ethan inquired, doing his best to affect an irritated tone.

Hurriedly, the policeman shook his head, almost falling over himself to add, "No, no of course not. She's quite lovely… I mean… that is to say, I… uhm… Would you like me to escort you back? See that you get home safely?"

"I'm sure I can handle it from here, thank you, Officer. Besides, I couldn't possibly take up your valuable time when you're out here keeping the citizens of this fine city safe. You have a good evening now," Ethan crooned, nodding his head politely at the shorter man, who shrank back and finally allowed him on his way.

"I'd keep to the main streets if I were you. Never know what you'll find out here in the dark!" the policeman called diligently after him, desperate to be of some assistance now the name of Vanessa's fictional uncle had been dropped.

"I'll keep that in mind!" Ethan called over his shoulder, his tone tinged ever so slightly with amusement; it was after all Ethan himself who was a creature of the darkness. He had dwelt there for so long that he had felt consumed by it, absorbed into the shadows. Until he had met Vanessa – and he had found his mate - a soul cursed as he was, to know and see things not of this world; a perfect pair they made, the scorpion and the wolf.

"Lyle's gonna have a fit of the damn vapours," he griped, finally seeing Grandage Place coming into view. The light at the drawing room window alerted him to their guest having let himself in, as had become customary, and Ethan braced himself for the explanation he knew the historian would be immediately seeking. Once he had regained his senses, of course.

Predictably, fifteen minutes later, with Vanessa laid out on the nearby couch as though in slumber, Lyle paced in front of the fireplace with his head in his hands. His demeanour was almost that of a man facing the executioner; his shoulders tight, his jaw tensed in fear and his brow sweaty.

"What you have done…" he moaned, shaking his head and screwing his eyes tight closed against the horror, "oh what you have done…"

"Can we move on from what we have done and please proceed with what we're about to do?" Ethan pressed, clearly in the firm grasp of irritation as he glared across the room at the other man. "We're just waiting on Malcolm and Victor, then you said you knew what to do."

Whipping around with the dramatic flair Ethan had come to expect from the man, Mr. Lyle gestured wildly with his hands, "Well yes, my dear boy, I know what to do in theory! Sir Malcolm asked if I knew anything about incantations and the like, to cross the veil… to enter the… the…"

"Demimonde…" Ethan finished off, remembering a conversation that now seemed so very long ago.

' _Do you believe there is a demimonde? A half world between what we know and what we fear?_ '

Mr. Lyle swallowed hard, his complexion paling even further than the powder that adorned his face usually allowed, "Quite."

"I need you to take me there, wherever this… this veil is, I gotta cross it. I have to get her out of there, Lyle. You have to help me… help her," he nodded over to Vanessa, her arms crossed carefully over her body, as she had been laid out in her coffin. Lyle's expression softened as he looked upon the young woman with affection, the horror at having been faced with her corpse now somewhat abating.

"That dear child. She did not deserve the torment this world inflicted upon her."

Gathering his thoughts, he added resolutely, "And if what you and Sir Malcolm say is true and that torment has continued on into the next, I could not live with myself if I did not at least try to set her soul free at last."

Ethan nodded, throwing his jacket onto a chair and loosening the buttons of his shirt as he suddenly knelt at Vanessa's side. Reaching out he brushed a tendril of dark hair from her cool cheek, closing his eyes momentarily as he offered up a prayer to a God he had long since abandoned.

"We're not setting her soul free. We're bringing it home."

Floundering for air, the Egyptologist's eyes grew impossibly wide, his expression utterly horror stricken. "Are you entirely mad?"

"Out of my fucking mind," Ethan countered with a shrug of his shoulders. He pressed one final kiss against Vanessa's forehead before climbing to his feet just in time to hear the main door of the house hurriedly open and slam closed. Two sets of determined footsteps then made their way to the drawing room.

His gaze torn between Ethan and the direction of their approaching company, Lyle shook his head repeatedly, as if trying to reason with the American. "But you… you would never survive such a journey. No mortal soul can…"

Offering the older man a brief smile, Ethan cocked his head to regard him intently, "You know what I am, Lyle. Lycan, wolf-man, Hound of God, call it whatever you want. You know what I'm capable of. I'm bringing her home. Where she belongs. So you're either gonna help me, or else you get the fuck out of my way."

Lyle swallowed hard and his features contorted, as though Ethan's words had left a bad taste in his mouth. However, he nodded his head only once.

"We came back as quickly as we could," Sir Malcolm explained, bursting into the room with Victor in his wake, "is everything in place? Are we ready?"

"We would be, if Lyle would quit dithering," Ethan quipped, offering the man in question a wan smile in an attempt to demonstrate that he bore no real ill will towards him. As favours went, asking someone to raise the dead was probably among the less courteous. "Now you're here I think we can work everything out."

"Good, that's…" Malcolm let out a sigh that rattled around the otherwise silent room, "that's excellent."

"We are at your disposal," Victor spoke up in agreement as he moved further into the study, his gaze lingering just a moment on Vanessa's pallid face.

Mr. Lyle nodded, trying his best to appear confident in his abilities and quash the overriding sense of terror that suddenly consumed him. Taking a moment, he wafted an arm over to the table, directing the young doctor to assist him.

"We need to create a large circle on the floor… this furniture will need to be relocated, and there are a dozen or so candles to be lit…"

Victor nodded in understanding before suddenly frowning as he inquired, "Are the candles a part of the ritual?"

"No," Lyle shook his hand, planting one hand on his hip in affectation as he allowed a smile to tug at his whiskered lips, "I just thought it would be atmospheric."

Victor frowned yet set about helping Malcolm and Ethan create a space large enough before the vast fireplace. Soon a number of candles lit the room, the oil lamps having been turned down to leave them and the roaring fire as the only sources of light.

"The circle…" Malcolm began uncertainly, "what are we to form it out of?"

The smile now fading rapidly from his lips, Lyle cleared his throat and toyed with the kravat around his neck as his gaze landed on Ethan.

"I believe it was customary to form a circle out of… blood."

Without awaiting further instruction, Ethan produced a small pocket knife and pressed the blade into his palm. Mr. Lyle looked away for fear of fainting as Ethan dragged the metal through his flesh, and the squelch of the blood against his closed palm made the historian grimace in displeasure.

"Don't touch that!" Lyle suddenly shouted, his eyes landing on Victor, who had attempted to lift a rather inconspicuous looking bowl from the table. "That is not to be toyed with by amateurs!"

Victor's eyebrows shot up derisively, "I venture I am able to fully utilise the uses of simple earthenware…"

His tone containing more than a hint of irritation, Lyle replied, "My good doctor, that is an Aramaic Incantation bowl. It is almost two thousand years old, produced in Babylonia during the Sassanian period by Rabbinic sages. It is the text inscribed in that bowl that will allow us entrance to the Demimonde… well, will allow Mr. Chandler entrance, at least. I should quite like to keep a respectable distance between myself and the other world for the time being."

"Ah, so, not a fruit bowl then," Victor replied somewhat sheepishly as he placed the bowl back on the table with the utmost reverence, which would have been amusing under any other circumstances.

"Ethan…" Sir Malcolm began, his hand suddenly landing on Ethan's forearm. His features were grey with worry and uncertainty, and Ethan felt a twinge of guilt at what he was about to once again put the man through. Malcolm had suffered plenty in his lifetime, perhaps enough for two or three, if Ethan was to be keeping count of the tragedies that had befallen him.

"I'm certain," Ethan replied before Malcolm could open his mouth to finish his protestations. "She the only thing that matters…"

"More important than your own life, Ethan?" Malcolm interjected gravely, something in his tone almost warm and caring in a way that Ethan was unaccustomed to, "she would not want you to risk your safety for this and… well, nor do I. I love Vanessa with all my heart, but sometimes we must accept that the dead are finally beyond our help."

"We can't leave her there, Malcolm," said Ethan, his eyes betraying just how distraught the prospect of such rendered him. Malcolm shook his head.

"I don't suggest that we do, only that you be careful and vow to me now that if your task starts to seem futile at any point, you will turn back."

Malcolm stared into Ethan's eyes furtively, his forehead creased with lines that had only deepened over the course of the time that Ethan had known him.

"Lyle… You ready?" Ethan checked, noting the pensive stance of the man as he paced before the table. The bowl and several other items were laid out like a surgeon would lay out his instruments.

"As one could ever be on such occasions," Lyle nodded gingerly, pointing to the circle that now stained Malcolm's wooden floorboards in congealing blood. "Place Miss Ives inside the circle please, and then… if you'd be so kind as to join her."

Once again lifting Vanessa into his arms, Ethan stepped inside the circle before placing her on the hard floor with the utmost gentleness. After making sure she was placed entirely within, he lay down next to her and let out a slow, steadying breath.

"Alright, now what?" Lyle, looking over at Malcom and Victor, lowered his voice. His tone became as serious as the creased brow he regarded them with. "No matter what happens, what you see or hear, we must not stop until the ritual is completed."

"I understand," Malcolm nodded sagely, looking down at the young doctor, who had suddenly grown several shades paler, "perhaps we should sit."

Mr. Lyle brought the bowl over toward the circle, a plume of smoke gently billowing out of the circular vessel as the contents burned, emitting a sickly scent that soon filled the drawing room.

When he began to speak, or more chant, it was in an alien tongue that washed over Ethan and made his bones grow cold. He was only vaguely aware of the continued presence of Victor and Malcolm, who sat with their backs against the wall, their eyes sweeping the room as though they were expecting an imminent attack.

Ethan allowed his eyelids to flicker closed and was more than a little surprised when weariness began to creep into every pore. Soon he felt like he was being weighed down by it, and his breathing began to grow so slow and measured that he was half afraid that it would stop altogether.

Perhaps sensing his nervousness, Malcolm spoke quietly but reassuringly, "We will remain here, Ethan. Just be careful."

Mr. Lyle directed a sharp look towards Malcolm, although he did not stop his chanting, which seemed to be instead growing in fervour and volume. He drew to a halt at the bottom of the circle, waving the smudge stick above his head as he continued, eyes trained on Ethan's body.

Eyes widening as Ethan suddenly let out a gasp, Mr. Lyle continued, his heart hammering in his ears and his fear consuming every inch of his trembling body. The Aramaic spilled from his tongue, and on the third repetition of his incantation, an unearthly breeze swept around the room, causing each candle flame to flicker. Against all odds, they remained lit for the time being.

"Ethan?" Victor called out, scurrying forward and finding his progress prevented by the firm hand Malcom planted on his shoulder.

"Leave him be," Malcolm warned, exchanging a pointed expression with the Egyptologist who stood over the circle in which the young couple lay.

Victor gritted his teeth in anger, shaking his head and running his hands vigorously through his hair as he found himself irritated by the gung-ho, self-sacrificing actions of the American.

"He loves her, Victor," Malcolm said quietly, "as do we all, I am sure, but… none so much as Ethan. We have to let him try."

Silenced for the meantime, Victor shrank back, taking his place beside the explorer and watching the circle intently for any sign of activity. Although he was not certain what kind of activity he may soon witness.

Ethan's hands, which had been folded over his abdomen, fell to his sides, and his features contorted in evident discomfort whilst the eerie wind once more picked up around the room. It lifted the hem of the heavy velvet curtains, and sent trinkets and glassware flying ominously from shelves and table tops.

Moments later, Ethan's eyes blinked open and the yellowed, furious gaze of the wolf stared up at the ceiling.

"Ethan? My boy…" Malcolm whispered, his voice tight as he realised the very real potential for calamity that the development had brought with it.

However, instead of answering, Ethan let out a low growl, and his eyes slammed shut once more.

**x-x-x**

He awoke lying on his back in what appeared to be a forest. A quick glance alerted him immediately to the fact that Vanessa's body was still somehow beside him, unchanged and unfortunately unmoving. Ethan sat up slowly and with some difficulty, realising with a start when he pressed his hands to the leaf strewn floor to aid him that his long fingers had been replaced by claws.

The subsequent growl he uttered took him by surprise and Ethan leap to his feet with all the agility of the wolf driving him.

He wondered if it was his own consciousness that had created the visage of this other world - if perhaps Purgatory looked different to all those who were damned to dwell there. The air around him was thick and charged with energy and, although usually the wolf's baser nature drove his actions during his transformation, Ethan somehow remained in control of his body and thoughts.

The tops of the trees rustled with the force of an icy breeze, but on the crest of that wind a familiar scent drew his attention. At once the wolf within him began to stir and battle for dominance, desperate to seek out its mate.

Unable to speak as a human, Ethan could not call out nor make any sound that would not terrify any poor soul he encountered. So, he simply followed the trail; pausing dead in his tracks as the white clothed figure appeared almost abruptly in the clearing ahead.

Their eyes locked for a moment and, in that second of vulnerability, he suddenly became aware of all of the other souls around them - those his eyes were unable to see. They clamoured and crowded around him, drawn to the energy of this living creature who somehow had managed to invade their grey world.

Ethan felt them claw at him, desperate to be heard, to be acknowledged, and their voices, nothing but a collective whisper, called out his name over and over again. A roar of anger forced them back, and he crept slowly towards her, as she too moved uncertainly towards him.

"Ethan…" her tone was unsure yet not fearful, and he felt a pang of grief strike at his heart once again as he realised how much he had missed the sound of her voice. "You came for me."

Familiar blue eyes locked on his and slowly Vanessa lifted a shaking hand to his face, disfigured as it was by the beast.

He could do nothing but close his eyes, lifting a gnarled hand to cover hers and blinking in surprise as the usually aggressive wolf allowed him a moment of tenderness. The voices around them once more began to surge and lick like flames at his thoughts, and the screams of the departed stunned the Lycan, who pulled the young woman into his arms and bared his teeth at those who may threaten their reunion.

"Be still," Vanessa murmured, her hand gently on his arm, thumb brushing small circles over his shirt sleeve, "they can't hurt us. They are just lost. So very lost."

Ethan cocked his head at the sound of her voice, a soft whimper being the only noise he could emit since the change had stolen his voice. He hoped Vanessa understood - that she realised that he would follow her lead until he could somehow manage to navigate them both from this land.

"I will assume that you did not come here without help," Vanessa stated rather than questioned, although Ethan found himself compelled to nod his head in affirmation. Tentatively, as though worried he may hurt her, Ethan wrapped his clawed fingers around Vanessa's wrist, as gently as he possibly could. Then, he began to tug her towards the tree line in the direction they had come, where he could almost taste the confusing scent of her living body on the breeze.

Suddenly struck by a crushing pain in his head, Ethan found himself staggering, his grip on Vanessa's arms tightening until she gasped in discomfort. She struggled to help support the weight of his body with her own. Then, she heard it; the incantation that would once again open and then seal closed the doorway between worlds. It beckoned them to hurry, and Vanessa felt the life force of the man in her embrace beginning to fade, as if he were being pulled from the clutches of the Demimonde.

He seemed to realise this too, and his grasp on her increased as he all but dragged both of them towards the circle he had awoken in. Vanessa's eyes grew teary at the sight of her own body, laying still and lifeless on the ground, and she shook her head insistently as if now understanding her lover's plan.

"No, no. You mustn't. Ethan, this cannot be. Only one soul can leave this plane, and it must be yours! I will not let you sacrifice yourself for me."

The wolf appeared angered at her words, at the defeat that once again tainted her features, and he dragged her inside the circle, releasing an anguished cry of pain as the wind swirled around them. Ethan fell to his knees. Claws once again became hands, his jaw cracked and contorted along with the other joints of his body, and it was a pair of deep brown eyes that opened moments later. His handsome face was restored, at least until the wolf resurfaced.

"Vanessa…" he managed to choke out, tears welling in his eyes as he peered into her face. Her hands found his cheeks again, stroking the smooth skin reverently. She leaned quickly forwards and pressed a kiss to his lips that was not chaste by any means.

"You will not sacrifice yourself for me," she repeated as she drew away, her bottom lip trembling in threat of the broken sobs that clawed at her chest.

"You reached out to me," Ethan protested, grasping her upper arms tightly as the wind continued to rage, "what the hell was the point in that if you didn't want my help?"

"I…" Vanessa began, frowning, although her voice was fast drowned out by the elements as booms of thunder and the crack of forked lightning joined the gales.

"I won't leave you," Ethan roared, his eyes flashing as harsh rain began to lash the ground around them, somehow not touching their physical bodies but managing to render their spiritual ones soaked. "Can't you just… step back into your body or something?"

"That's not how this works," protested Vanessa, shaking her head and causing tendrils of wet curls to whip her own cheeks, "one soul entered the doorway and only one may pass back through it. Ethan, you must go."

"Van…" he murmured, dragging her to his chest in a bid to shield her if only a little from the brutal storm swirling around them, " _you are my soul_."

Tears trickled down Vanessa's cheeks and she leaned her forehead against Ethan's. She dropped to her knees in front of him inside the circle, thankful that his arms still fiercely encircled her. She had missed his touch the most.

"As you are mine," she smiled briefly through her tears, nothing but the deepest love present in her gaze. Gathering her hands in his and holding them against his chest, Ethan pressed hurried kisses down her cheek as the ground began to violently shake beneath them.

"We're soulmates, Vanessa. I think I knew that from the moment I saw you. Your soul and mine are already joined together, tethered to each other, and that's how we're getting out of here… together. You trust me?"

"Always," she affirmed, her eyes locking on his. Out of her periphery vision, she saw him reach out towards the edge of the circle without looking. He grasped a flat, jagged rock in his hand before testing the edge of it by brushing his thumb over the sharpness. Satisfied it would do the job, he released her from his grasp and lifted his hand up for her to watch as the makeshift blade sliced a crooked line into the centre of his palm. Understanding dawning, Vanessa offered her own hand willingly, keeping her gaze affixed on his as she felt the cold stone pierce her skin. It was the first time she had felt anything but loneliness in this place, and she rejoiced at the blessed agony.

"Whatever happens, don't let go," Ethan instructed, seizing her hand and tangling their fingers together until their palms kissed. A slow, bloody ooze of warmth trickled down both their arms and fell in droplets onto the violently trembling earth. Ethan's free arm encircled her waist and Vanessa clung to him, feeling a pull at the very essence of her being, like a deep sleep was beginning to overcome her senses.

"Stay with me, Van," she heard Ethan plead into her ear, and the pet name instantly conjured the dream the demon had once used to taunt her. Yet this time, the possibility of that life, of welcoming such light into her once cruel world, fuelled her desperate desire to live again.

**x-x-x**

With the most violent of gasps, Ethan came to for the second time in a thirty minute spell. He was immediately aware of his surroundings, and specifically the feel of another hand in his own, alongside the sensation of something wet and tacky near binding their fingers together.

"Vanessa…" he uttered, sitting up so suddenly that he caused his head to swim. Sir Malcolm stood at the edge of the circle, looking as though he wanted nothing more than to cross the threshold of it and hug Ethan, or perhaps slap some sense into him finally.

Ignoring the assemblage of his obviously worried friends, Ethan's gaze shot sideways, to where Vanessa lay in the circle, her body still prone and her eyes lightly closed.

"It didn't work," hissed Ethan, his voice near breaking as he stared at his former lover. "She's really gone."

Malcolm averted his gaze to the floor, as Victor and Mr. Lyle exchanged mournful looks. The Egyptologist, consumed by the task laid out before him, had allowed himself to get caught up in Ethan's enthusiasm. He too had started to believe that they would see Vanessa again, and the failure of their scheme struck each of them anew with fresh grief.

"We should return her body," Victor stated, inwardly cringing at his own words as he pondered the corpses he himself had desecrated in the pursuit of science and overcoming the finality of death.

"Victor, let us…" Malcolm began, suddenly pausing as the ground beneath him began to hum. The vibrations escalated until the entire room shook with the force of an earthquake.

Ethan stared down at the apparently lifeless body beside him, refusing to release her hand even as the floorboards creaked with the force of their movement, and Mr. Lyle clutched the precious bowl to his chest as he stared open-mouthed at Vanessa's body.

"Can it be?" he finally managed to gasp, letting out a shriek of surprise as every candle in the room blew out and the group were plunged into darkness, save for the roaring fire that hissed and crackled with renewed vigour.

Unable to clearly see the inhabitants of the circle in the darkness, Victor and Malcolm stepped forward squinting, with Mr. Lyle maintaining a cautious distance behind them.

Ethan turned his head and closed his eyes, his jaw set in determination as he gripped Vanessa's hand. He felt a building surge of power seem to flow from his own fingertips into hers.

Then just as abruptly as it had begun, the turbulent shaking halted and an expectant peace settled over the room. None of the men dared to speak, afraid to break the strange sense of calm that had descended upon them.

The voice that finally shattered that silence made the American's heart leap with joy. It was small, uncertain, and shaking with raw emotion, but it was _there_.

 _"_ _Ethan?"_

It was the most glorious sound he had ever heard.


	3. Love Is...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to all who have read and commented so far. We're glad you're enjoying it! As it's our first venture into PD fanfic we were very nervous about doing justice to these wonderful characters.  
> Lyrics belong to Stevie Nicks.

**_"Love Is..._ **

**_You've got the softest lips_ **

**_Love is..._ **

**_The touch of your fingertips_ **

**_Love is..._ **

**_Knowing you won't let go."_ **

 

 

 

The thing that Victor was first struck by was the pinkish hue that now adorned the apples of her cheeks. It was such an innocent and pure sign of life that he found himself almost blinking away tears of relief as he examined her. Pulse, respiratory rate, temperature, pupillary reactions to light; all seemed completely normal, and indicated that Vanessa Ives was in the peak of good health. No mean feat indeed for a woman who had been stone cold dead less than an hour ago.

 

“Is everything to your satisfaction?” Vanessa inquired, cocking her head slightly as she surveyed Victor, who was replacing his stethoscope into his bag with badly trembling hands. It took him a moment longer than usual to answer, during which he struggled to gather his wits.

 

“Perfectly,” he replied, a small but pleased smile adorning his lips, “you are as healthy as a horse, in fact. In fine fettle.”

 

Vanessa nodded, lying back against the pillows of the bed, where both Ethan and Sir Malcolm had been quite forcefully insistent that she retire to. She seemed content, if the ghost of the smile playing across her features was anything to go by, but somehow also troubled in a manner that Victor could not quite put his finger on.

 

“Of course, I have very little experience in such an occurrence…” he began, only to be interrupted by Vanessa.

 

“Perhaps more than most,” she interjected kindly, causing Victor to chuckle.

 

“Perhaps,” he admonished with a nod, before continuing, “but I would wager that it would not be at all unusual should you be feeling somewhat tired or generally out of sorts.”

 

“Quite the opposite, I assure you,” Vanessa stared up momentarily at the ceiling, as if the feeling that was now upon her was so foreign, it took careful contemplation to explain. “In fact, I feel more alive than I believe I have ever felt before. Lighter, somehow.”

 

Victor observed her for a moment, his smile fading to betray almost embarrassment, as he asked uncertainly, “May I ask you something?”

 

Lifting herself up onto her elbows, Vanessa sat against the mound of pillows, her hands laying resplendently over her abdomen, and the soft, familiar fabric of a nightgown. She inhaled slowly and smiled at the scent of roses that emanated from her freshly bathed skin, revelling at the odd sensation of peace and – dare she say it – grace, that had befallen her.

 

“You may ask me anything, Victor. I believe there are very few secrets left between our little family.” The knowing smile she offered him made him swallow hard at the implications but he pushed on with his question none the less.

 

“Did you… Did you really see Him?” Victor felt his cheeks blushing a shade of crimson, “I believe the only thing keeping Ethan from placing the barrel of a gun against his temple, was your last words to him. That you… you saw… _God_.”

 

Vanessa released a slow, mournful breath, before turning a bright eyed gaze upon her friend. “Yes, I did.”

 

Victor nodded, although her reply appeared to leave him troubled. “Yet you were not received into Heaven. If it was indeed our Lord you encountered, why did he forsake you?”

 

“It was not my time to depart,” Vanessa replied, her words full of the conviction the doctor’s lacked. “He did not forsake me, Victor. I was healed, my soul restored. The curse that once plagued my mind I now see as a gift, to control, and to use for good. But once entered into Heaven, you may not leave… and there is a life yet for me to live. The choice to stay in that place, that dark place… that was mine, Victor. I believe that, in the end… the desire to live was stronger than my desire to find peace. So it’s strange now that I am here, alive on this earth again, and it is here I have found that grace.”

 

Victor stared at her, eyes wide, “And so you reached out to us… to Ethan and Sir Malcolm?”

 

He frowned as her expression grew increasingly troubled, and the shadow that fell over her features became a more familiar sight.

 

“No,” she replied simply, “I did not reach out. I knew God would find a way to restore me as He saw fit. But I would not have Ethan risk his own life for mine. Death had already claimed me, I would not see it take him. Love is selfless… and I had asked enough of him already.”

 

“So how…” Victor began, suddenly understanding her alarm. Perhaps forces not of the light had been responsible for directing them to retrieve her lost soul. “The demon?”

 

Victor appeared suitably appalled and terrified at the prospect.

 

“No, no,” Vanessa shook her head hurriedly, “the Demon has been banished, at least for now. I cannot sense his presence here. Though I am now able to control my gift and block out the voices that tormented me, I would still feel him… like a dagger, twisting deep into my very being. There is no mistaking the presence of the Beast. But there is nothing. Only silence. I do not know what led you all to resurrect me, Victor. But I must find out. If not for your safety, for my own peace of mind.”

 

Nodding his head resolutely, Victor leant forward and somewhat clumsily planted a kiss on her cheek. “And we shall assist you every step of the way. It is good to have you home, Miss Ives. We… that is to say, I, have missed you greatly.”

 

Vanessa nodded, reaching out and cupping his cheek as she bestowed an almost serene smile upon him in reply.

 

Victor, suddenly pulled from his uncharacteristically sentimental state, nodded over towards the door, “And now, I think there are two gentlemen wearing a trench in outside that door, who would rather like to see you.”

 

Vanessa seemed half elated and also half terrified by the prospect. She had spent a long time when banished in Purgatory wondering what Malcolm thought of her choices, both as a friend and father figure, and it seemed now that she was poised to find out. She wondered if she was ready for such a revelation.

 

Sucking in a deep breath, she again nodded, and encouraged Victor, “Please, send them in. I don’t want to be accused of keeping anybody waiting.”

 

Offering Vanessa a final, departing smile, Victor opened the door and found both Ethan and Sir Malcolm leaning against the opposing wall, watching expectantly for a sign that they should enter. Both men immediately straightened up and Vanessa had the decency to hide her amusement behind a cough, which she shielded with her hand.

 

Both men exchanged glances, but it was Ethan that cordially bowed his head and stated, “Malcolm, you should…”

 

“Are you sure?” Malcolm interjected, although he appeared visibly relieved and pleased by Ethan’s offer.

 

“Please do stop dallying, it’s been months since I have had the pleasure of good company, I would consider it quite rude to keep me waiting,” chided Vanessa, beckoning Sir Malcolm into her bedroom as though she were a queen summoning a subject. However, he stumbled inside quite willingly, his eyes filling with fresh tears at the sight of her sitting up in bed, pink cheeked and very much alive.

 

Victor beat a hasty retreat, joining Ethan in the hallway as he closed the door behind him.

 

Malcolm made no pretences; he was clearly overcome with emotion and making no effort to contain them. Taking a seat on the bed beside Vanessa, he gazed down at her through watering blue eyes, his bottom lip on the verge of trembling even as she threw herself into the arms of the only real father she had ever known. Her own father had been a distant and unloving presence, and there remained a silent question that lingered between Malcolm and the young woman in his arms, as to her true parentage.

 

Alike in so many ways, it was not difficult to imagine that her sisterly bond with Mina and life-long adoration of the ageing explorer, had been born out of blood, not merely circumstance or friendship.

 

“My darling girl,” he wept, a large hand cupping the back of her head. He embraced her tightly, drawing back on occasion to peer into her face, delighted to see such light behind her eyes. Then he would pull her back into his arms and hold her like the daughter she had always somehow been.

 

“You are home, you are safe,” he managed a genuine smile through his tears, his thumb brushing her cheek, “I swear to you, Vanessa, I will never let anything harm you again. Nothing will ever take you from me, not whilst there is breath in my body.”

 

It was only the gentle sniffles emanating from the woman tucked under his chin that alerted Malcolm to the fact that Vanessa was as overcome by the reunion as he was proving to be. She remained locked in his arms, loathed to leave their sanctuary. Her head rested on his chest, just above his heart, listening to the steadying beat beneath her ear and allowing it to fill her with comfort.

 

“I missed you,” she whispered, refusing to draw back from the embrace, “I missed you all so much. What a terrible mistake I made.”

 

Malcolm shook his head, tears spilling off his cheeks and plopping onto the dark crown of Vanessa’s head.

 

“Desperation makes us act in ways we wouldn’t ordinarily,” he murmured, caressing the back of her head as though he would that of an infant, “you were so very tired and in great pain, and I didn’t see it. For that, I am guilty too.”

 

Vanessa shook her head adamantly, “The guilt is mine and mine alone. My life had become such unrelenting terror, such darkness. I was afraid of what I may become and of the destruction I may have brought forth. Now, I feel such hope as I never dared allow myself to feel before. If you can all forgive me, I…”

 

Malcolm looked affronted at her words, “There is nothing for us to forgive, Vanessa. All I ask, is that you allow me to remain beside you… as a father would share in his daughter’s happiness… for I am certain that brighter days are waiting for you - for all of us. And perhaps… perhaps you would consider staying on here at Grandage Place, to think of it as your home?”

 

Watching her expression carefully, Malcolm ventured with a telling smirk, “And of course I might be moved to extend that invitation to a certain colonial friend of ours, if that would make you happy?!”

 

Vanessa laughed, and the sound made Malcom’s heart leap. Leaning up and brushing a kiss against his whiskered cheek, she replied, “I believe that would make me very happy indeed.”

 

For the first time in many years, Malcolm felt hopeful; he looked to the future with excitement and wonder. The darkness that had shrouded him, (that had followed them all), seemed to have lifted and it was a glorious sensation - to feel alive and to not fear the impending days.

 

Suddenly straightening up yet still holding onto her hand, which he patted to punctuate his words, Malcolm stated suddenly, “We shall have a dinner! All of your favourite foods! With desserts to rival the finest Parisian restaurants. I shall organise it at once. I’m sure Mr. Lyle would relish the opportunity to reunite with you now he has had the opportunity to regain his senses.”

 

“Did I not see Mr. Lyle earlier this evening?” Vanessa frowned, certain it had not only been the old Egyptologist behind the otherworldly incantation, but also sure she had spied him during the first few moments of her ‘rebirth’.

 

Sir Malcolm smirked and directed an odd look at Vanessa.

 

“Indeed you did, until he passed out cold before Ethan could get the lights back up,” he revealed with a chuckle. “Victor ordered him to bed, where he’s currently languishing with a migraine.”

 

“Oh dear,” conceded Vanessa, although her own amusement was obvious. “I would very much like to thank him when he is recovered fully.”

 

Nodding his head, Malcolm lingered in the doorway with one hand rested on the handle and one on the frame.

 

“I love you, my dear,” he murmured softly, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight, and his lips quirking into a pleased but disbelieving smile. “As you were my own. Please don’t ever forget that or doubt it for a moment.”

 

The smile he was rewarded with let him know in no uncertain terms that Vanessa more than reciprocated those feelings. There existed a bond between them that each cherished. From the innocence of childhood, sitting on his knee to hear stories of his far flung adventures, to finding comfort and reassurance in his embrace when the world had seemed a dark and forbidding place, in all respects, Malcolm Murray was her father. Indeed, he was the only family she knew had ever loved her despite her demons and darker nature.

 

“I think there’s a young man out here who wishes to see you perhaps even more than I,” Malcolm smiled knowingly, noting the blush that rose up the young woman’s cheeks with delight at the blossoming romance that may perhaps be allowed to finally bloom.

 

Suddenly struck by a girlish fancy that Vanessa Ives had seldom been guilty of, she ran hurried fingers through her still damp hair and shot Malcolm a mildly concerned look as she whispered, “Do I look absolutely dreadful?”

 

Malcolm let out a huff of laughter, shaking his head as he regarded her affectionately. “You look beautiful as always, my dear.”

 

“Liar,” Vanessa chuckled, nodding her head to signal that he should let the still guilt-ridden gun-slinger into the room.

 

When Malcolm tugged open the door, Ethan all but fell through it and onto the carpet, looking somewhat guilty at having been caught lingering.

 

“I was just…” he began, casting his eyes down to the floor momentarily as he racked his brain for an excuse.

 

“I will be downstairs, preparing some tea,” Malcolm offered by way of farewell before he ducked out of the bedroom, a knowing smile weaving its way across his lips.

 

Ethan closed the door firmly behind him, taking several moments to rest his palms against the wood with his back to Vanessa, whilst he sucked in deep breaths and attempted to steady his raging nerves.

 

“Will you sit with me?” Vanessa asked, her small voice striking right to the heart of Ethan’s wavering resolve. He was at her side in seconds, seated on the bed next to her with his boots kicked off and his hands reaching for hers across the sheets.

 

“How do I…” Ethan began, trailing off and shaking his head, “how do I even begin to apologise for what I did?”

 

“You do not,” Vanessa said simply, her fingers squeezing Ethan’s.

 

“You did nothing but what I asked of you,” she lamented, stroking her fingertips over the back of his hand. She tangled their fingers until his palm pressed tightly to hers, where her unblemished skin met the now healing wound he had self-inflicted to conjure the circle. “I’m the one who should feel guilt, Ethan. _Not you_. Never you.”

 

Finally lifting his eyes, he took a moment to simply stare at her, feeling overwhelmed with relief at the sight before him.

 

“God, I missed you,” he managed in a whisper.

 

Beckoning him forward, Vanessa slid her arm around his waist, sighing contentedly as he did likewise and their foreheads rested together.

 

“I swear to you, I will never leave your side again,” he vowed, closing his eyes at the sensation of her hand against his cheek. She caressed his jaw with the pad of her thumb, her lips breaking into a smile as he planted feather-light kisses against her skin.

 

“Perhaps we can agree to never leave each other?” she suggested, arching a dark eyebrow as she added solemnly, “a promise I will forever keep… should you wish it, of course.”

 

Ethan laughed, evident disbelief painted on his features as he peered down at her as though she had entirely lost her mind.

 

“ _Should I wish it_?” he repeated, “darlin’, before this week is through, I’m gonna find a priest, buy a ring, and I’m gonna marry you.”

 

As if to punctuate his words, he lifted her left hand and pressed a lingering kiss over the base of her third finger.

 

Surprise colouring her features, Vanessa’s blue eyes grew impossibly wide, yet she couldn’t help the grin that had begun to tug at her lips.

 

“I believe it’s customary to ask the bride first, Mr. Chandler?” she suggested, adopting a feigned sense of propriety that brought a peel of laughter rumbling from his chest.

 

“Well, I believe it’s customary to ask permission from your father first,” he amended, smirking as he added, “but since I walked through Purgatory to raise you from the dead, I don’t think he’s going to have a problem with it.”

 

Vanessa laughed, smoothing her palm against Ethan’s cheek and breathing a small but content sigh as his eyes swept her face in an obvious bid to commit her features to memory all over again. There was very little he had forgotten during their long months of separation, he was pleased to note.

 

“Ethan,” Vanessa started, her smile fading a fraction as she nibbled on her bottom lip with her teeth, “I don’t want to ruin this moment…”

 

“Then don’t,” Ethan interrupted, quickly silencing Vanessa with a kiss pressed against her lips. She melted willingly into his advances but as soon as he drew away from her, a trademark frown was in place.

 

“But there are things we must discuss,” she murmured, sweeping one hand through her damp hair in a bid to tame her wild curls, “things of great importance if we are to ever be truly happy together.”

 

“Tomorrow,” Ethan assured her, although his tone disclosed that he wasn’t at all happy at the prospect.

 

Letting his fingertips trace over the curve of her cheekbone, he paused and narrowed his eyes, an all too familiar dread beginning to rise up from the pit of his stomach.

 

“Wait… this doesn’t involve the Devil or his lecherous little brother, does it? It’s not something that… that means you’re in danger again?”

 

Vanessa shook her head, leaning up to brush a comforting kiss to his forehead as she clambered with unlikely elegance onto his knee.

 

“No, nothing like that, my love. That fight is over, I assure you. The voices that once haunted me have been silenced forever, and they will not arise again.”

 

Relief washed over him instantly, and he stared into her eyes for only a moment before wrapping his arms around her waist.

 

“Well, alright then,” he drawled, his brown eyes captivated by her blue.

 

Resting her head on his shoulder, Vanessa allowed him to rub slow, comforting circles across her back. His warmth and wonderfully familiar scent calmed any last thought of the matter she knew they would need to discuss in the morning light. Just this once, she chose to indulge her own desires and to enjoy this moment of happiness she thought had been forever lost to her.

 

“Will you stay with me tonight?” she asked, sighing airily as his lips began to drag a carefree path down the column of her neck.

 

Lifting his head to momentarily claim her lips, Ethan grinned. His handsome face looked lighter and so much younger than it had only hours before. He wore happiness well, and it was a countenance Vanessa hoped to see more of in the future.

 

“Well now you are in my bed, Miss Ives,” he replied, his breath catching in his chest at the sight of her beaming smile – a smile he had thought he would never see again, in this life.

 

Vanessa nodded, stroking her finger over the tiny buttons on his shirt.

 

“My room has certain… negative connotations. I’m not sure I shall ever want to sleep in there again. Besides, the cat seems to have claimed it as her own.”

 

“Ah yes, Malcolm’s cat,” Ethan replied with a chuckle and a subsequent grimace, “don’t remind me.”

 

Smiling impishly, Vanessa asked with feigned innocence, “You are not a cat person, Mr. Chandler?”

 

Ethan laughed out loud, delighted to find himself being prodded and teased in that familiar manner once again. It was something he was certain he would never tire of even if he lived until he was one hundred.

 

“I guess he needed a little companionship, can’t blame a guy for that,” said Ethan, reclining against the pillows again and adjusting Vanessa in his arms so that her head was perched on his shoulder. Her cool breath blew across his collarbone where his shirt was open slightly, and Ethan felt a shiver course down his own spine, though he hid it well.

 

“I will never be able to thank you enough for what you did for me this evening,” Vanessa mumbled, her eyes beginning to close as she found herself lulled like an infant by the rise and fall of Ethan’s chest. “I had long ago given up hope of ever truly being loved, the way a man should love a woman. I certainly could never imagine someone being willing to sacrifice themselves for me. It’s rather romantic, if not a little frightening.”

 

Ethan released a sigh, enclosing Vanessa in his arms as tightly as he could without causing her discomfort. Turning his head so their lips almost touched, he stated with utter conviction, “No man has ever loved a woman the way I love you. And… my motives were purely selfish ones, I assure you.”

 

Lifting her head to close the remaining distance, Vanessa kissed him, finally allowing herself to believe that the future she had been cruelly teased with could actually be theirs.

 

“As I love you. For all that you are, Ethan. We are no longer cursed to walk alone, but together.”

 

Gathering her closer, Ethan combed his fingers through her hair, overcome with the joy of having her in his arms and the prospective of perhaps a lifetime lived together; rejoicing in the grace he had only ever found in her love.

 

Their lips met over and over again, neither rushed or troubled by some impending danger or the prospect of separation. They remained content to simply exchange languid kisses, loathed to let the other leave their hungry gaze for too long.

But he knew the events of the night must have taken their toll, and so he would surrender her to happy dreams, if only for the time being.

“Go to sleep, Van. I’ll be here when you wake up,” he promised, knowing sleep could not possibly claim him given the sense of euphoria that flooded his veins. Staring up at the ceiling for a moment, watching the candlelight flicker against the shadows, Ethan bent his head, letting his breath ghost her ear. “You know, you never answered my question.”

 

Vanessa let out a girlish giggle pressed into the fabric of his shirt that instantly brought a smile to Ethan’s lips.

 

“I don’t believe I heard you ask,” she teased.

 

Happy to play along, Ethan slid his hand up to caress her cheek and better direct her gaze to his. Peering down at her with unchecked adoration, he allowed his mind to wander to all that the future may hold for them. Though he had never considered himself a family man - he had never wanted the trappings marriage ultimately brought with it - he could think of nothing he wanted more than to have her heart belong to him in this life and the next.

 

“Marry me, Vanessa.”

 

Her response was instant, preceded by her lips against his and the sensation of her curling her body further into the safety of his embrace.

 

“ _Yes_.”

 

**x-x-x**

For once in Vanessa’s life, morning light actually brought with it a sense of hope about the unfolding day. It would be hers and Ethan’s, whatever they chose to make of it, whether that was a quiet walk in the park through the snow, or a last minute trip to the theatre in their finery. At least, it would be, once one small but significant matter was dealt with.

 

“As much as I wanted to be with you all again,” Vanessa began, placing her tea cup delicately atop its saucer, “I did not reach out to you from Purgatory. I had no idea that such a thing was even possible. Although I had tried, I had not yet found a way to pierce the Demimonde and get a message to you.”

 

Ethan swallowed his bacon hard, grimacing when it scratched his throat all the way down. Victor coughed into his glass of orange juice, and Sir Malcolm lay his napkin on the edge of the table as though his appetite had suddenly vanished.

 

“If not you, Vanessa, then who?” Malcolm asked gravely, cursing the moment he felt his euphoria and hopefulness begin to ebb away. Such had become his life, and it was a feeling he had grown increasingly used to over the years of torment. He had hoped the previous evening had drawn a close to that chapter but it seemed fate had other ideas.

 

“More like ‘what’,” Ethan growled, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Alright, so it’s not Lucifer, it’s not that Dracula guy, Hecate’s dead, Evelyn’s dead … who the fuck else could it be?”

 

Vanessa nodded her head in agreement at his summation, reaching out and placing her hand over his and dipping her gaze to catch his eye. He managed a brief smile, although it then blossomed into a full blown grin as he contemplated the other more joyous news they had yet to share with their little family.

 

Clasping her hand in his, he interlinked their fingers, using his free hand to lift a china cup to his lips as Vanessa remained momentarily silent, mulling over their predicament.

 

“I believe that ultimately, fate… destiny… perhaps even our Lord himself, would have found a way to bring me back to this earth.”

 

Ethan narrowed his eyes, “So, it was an act of God, us finding you?”

 

“Not entirely,” Vanessa shook her head, “but maybe just this once, this is not so much about me as it was merely an opportunity to use _you all_ for its purpose.”

 

Malcolm and Victor exchanged pained expressions, the latter beginning to rub his temple where he felt a headache gathering strength.

 

“And what might that purpose be?” Malcolm enquired, loathed to admit that he had pondered at the implications of meddling in the affairs of Heaven.

 

Vanessa swallowed a sip of luke-warm tea and shook her head, “I’m afraid that I cannot tell you. But I do know that I feel nothing encroaching on my mind. I sense no darkness there. If a soul has somehow managed to use the portal you created to escape the bounds of Purgatory, I do not feel any malevolence within this house. There is energy here, of that I am certain but it’s nature is unknown to me.”

 

Victor’s features drew into a small, uncertain smile, “Good news, indeed! Benign spirits are much preferred.”

 

Without word, Malcolm nodded his head, whilst Ethan offered Vanessa’s hand a gentle squeeze. Victor, always having possessed a stronger stomach than most, returned to his breakfast as though the news had never been imparted at all.

 

Meanwhile, from the doorway, amid the clatters of forks against china and teaspoons stirring sugar around teacups, she watched. Her presence went unnoticed and she felt a course of excitement jolt through her at that knowledge. It seemed that her brief stint in Purgatory had changed Vanessa in more ways than one, and the silencing of the spiritual voices in her head that she seemed to be celebrating may ultimately be her own undoing. A smile curved her lips at the thought. How very poetic.

 

**x-x-x**

 

Holding aloft the lamp in her hand, the hospital matron cast one final glance over the corpse of the young girl, and bid a hasty nod towards the porters. The Winter morning had barely illuminated the long, expansive ward, and eerie shadows lingered in corners, casting an unearthly hue on the already ashen faces that lay in the line of beds.

 

Pulling the sheet up and over the frail shell of the fourteen year old, whose body was riddled with the latter stages of disease, the porter sighed at the sight of her hollowed features. Dark circles marred what he assumed had been once bright and youthful eyes.

 

“Take her to the morgue, I shall tend to her parents,” the matron instructed, casting a glance over towards the entrance to the ward, where the bereft couple tried to take solace in the arms of the hospital chaplain. Under her breath she sent up a silent prayer to the Heavens, asking their maker to receive the child into his care. To provide the healing modern medicine had failed to deliver.

 

A chill of icy air swirled around the woman’s shoulders and she shivered at the sensation, which almost felt as though small, ghostly fingers swept across her back.

 

“Nurse! Please make sure to tend the fire and ensure all windows are firmly closed,” she barked, catching the eye of a trainee, who dutifully bowed her head and uttered a ‘yes, matron’ in passing.

 

Mindful of returning to her rounds, the matron, clad all in the darkest blue save for the white frilly cap upon her head, took up her skirts and hurried to continue her supervision of the hospital’s staff.

 

The porters, caps removed as a sign of respect, wheeled the body towards the double doors. Their eyes lowered as the mother let out an anguished scream and clawed desperately at her husband’s chest.

 

“I bloody hate this job,” one man grumbled quietly, noting with irritation the squeak of the wheel on the front of the trolley.

 

“So you said last night,” his comrade replied, groaning as he was forced to accept the majority of the weight of their load whilst attempting to navigate backwards through the doors, “and the night before that, and the night before that, and the night before that, and the…”

 

“Will you shut up?” the other snapped, hurrying his pace just a little. The long, narrowed corridors gave him the willies, and that was perhaps his main reason for detesting the job he suffered to allow him to put food on the table for his wife and their brood.

 

“Poor little mite,” was the only reply he received, and he was forced out of human decency alone to bob his head. He could not imagine the pain the young girl’s parents were now experiencing, now that she was free from the burdens of life.

 

With the girl delivered to the morgue, the men took only the briefest of moments to offer the customary prayer before beating a hasty retreat back to the upper levels of the hospital. Both still had  a number of hours left in their working days, and undoubtedly they would be making many trips to and fro. Besides, they had no desire to linger among the death.

 

When all was quiet, the body beneath the sheet twitched, almost imperceptibly, inhabited by the soul of another daughter lost from this earth.

 

Mina Murray opened her eyes and sat up to survey the world around her. She inhaled deeply, testing the sensation of air in her lungs, which was now foreign to her. The pungent odour of embalming fluid mixed with the sweet, sickening smell of death was almost overpowering, but Mina breathed in until the body she inhabited ached with the exertion.

 

Smoothing a hand over the fine lace and cotton of the nightgown she found her unwilling host clothed in, she hummed in anticipation.

 

“I’m coming home, father,” she whispered, standing up and delighting at the sensation of the cold tiles against her feet, “and I promise, it will be _quite_ the happy reunion.”


	4. Playing In God's Garden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics belong to Stevie Nicks.
> 
> Apologies for the delay between updates, we've both been incredibly busy lately. But for those of you still reading, thank you for sticking with the story.

 

_**"Through the mist I see her face** _   
_**Looking down on me** _   
_**Don't know the time, don't know the place** _   
_**Let her eyes watch over me."** _

 

 

 

 

The cool Winter air caressed Vanessa's cheeks, bringing a crimson blush to her skin. Drifting miniature snowflakes melted into her porcelain complexion, where they disappeared in wet splotches.

Dressed in her finest attire, including a rather splendid hat she hadn't even recalled purchasing, Vanessa strolled along the street beside Ethan.

Malcolm strode on ahead, his walking cane held almost like a baton, as he directed the newly engaged couple towards the church that lay at the end of the street. The sound of children playing drew his attention, and he tipped his hat at passing mothers, the crisp air revitalising and rejuvenating him in this most joyful of missions.

"Can't help but wonder what kind of priest Sir Malcolm kept company with," Ethan said quietly, smiling to himself at the prospect of meeting the illustrious Father Fitzgerald, of whom Malcolm had spoken so warmly about that morning. That was, after Ethan had somewhat nervously enquired about a man of God who may perform a marriage ceremony.

Vanessa turned her gaze sideways, smiling in agreement with her fiancé, and the couple quickened their pace to keep up with the purposeful strides of their patriarch.

"I'm rather looking forward to meeting him," she murmured. Her gaze swept around the street, taking in the faces of the people - their expressions, their voices. Delighted to be amongst the living again, she would make every attempt this time to be part of their world, and to find her place within it.

"Should be interesting," Ethan observed, chuckling as Vanessa shot him a warning glance that also somewhat belayed her amusement.

"Are you in danger of changing your mind, Mr. Chandler?" she teased, tipping her head as she peered up at Ethan from beneath a fan of lashes.

His grin was brilliant and immediate. He shook his head with such vigour that Vanessa grinned back up at him like the cat that got the cream.

"Nothing could make me change my mind about this," he assured her, pausing in order to lean forward and brush a measured kiss against her forehead. Vanessa allowed her eyelids to flutter closed as she savoured the brief touch of his lips against her skin.

When Ethan finally drew back he found her peering up at him with the most radiant smile he thought he'd ever seen, and it was a gruff cough from Sir Malcolm that finally brought them out of their reverie.

"Come along!" he enthused, "time is of the essence. There is much to do if we're to have the ceremony performed before the week is out. Plenty of time for that later."

"How exactly do you know Father Fitzgerald?" Vanessa pressed, hurrying her pace to keep up whilst trying not to lose her footing on the ice. Ethan kept a firm grasp on her arm, and the two finally caught up with the explorer as he paused to let a horse and carriage pass by them.

"Around the time I set sail for Africa, the good father received his calling to missionary work. He and I grew quite well acquainted during the months we spent encamped. Though there for very different purposes, I like to think in some respects we were kindred spirits, both of the desire to see and explore strange lands, to experience life so very different from our own. He…" Malcolm paused, his blue eyes suddenly downcast, "he was a good friend to me in the most terrible of times, and I shall never be able to repay him for his kindness. I am quite sure he'll be delighted to perform a far happier service now."

Finding the church doors now within reach, Ethan and Malcolm simultaneously removed their hats, and the three entered its dark confines. The combined smells of burning wicks, old books, and wood polish were instantaneous, and Vanessa smiled at the familiarity, taking a moment to pause in the aisle and reverently anoint herself with the sign of the cross.

The church was empty, the early morning mass long ended, leaving only a few candles still burning in front of the alter. Malcolm wandered down the aisle with Ethan and Vanessa following in his wake, his eyes sweeping the stained-glass windows almost absently as he walked.

"Father?" Malcolm called out, pausing uncertainly at the step that lead up to the altar. He could see neither sight nor life of the priest, who he had assumed would be carrying out his duties before the afternoon service was to begin.

Whilst Malcolm waited where he stood, Vanessa and Ethan slid into the front pew. Gathering her skirts, Vanessa lowered herself onto the kneeling mat, where she proceeded to bow her head and clasp her hands on the back of the pew. It had been a while since she had last spoken to Him, but she knew that she certainly had much to be thankful for, and apparently a few moments to spare. She could feel Ethan's gaze upon her, ever watchful and protective, and she smiled as she closed her eyes to utter soft words of thanks for all that she had been granted.

Vanessa allowed herself to get lost in the moment of quiet reflection, feeling a new closeness to the Heavens and the creator who had saved her tormented soul. When the final words of solemn prayer had drifted from her lips, she opened her eyes and was surprised to find Ethan in a similar, yet wholly unfamiliar state of contemplation. Eyes closed, he appeared lost, his whispered words drifting off into the rafters as his brow furrowed with his impassioned words of gratitude and repentance.

The majority of the sentences spilling from his lips were unintelligible, but Vanessa smiled softly as she managed to intercept the last few words he offered to their Lord.

" _Thank you_."

His eyes flickered open and he beamed instantly at the sight of her beside him. Vanessa slid her hand into his until the warmth of her skin and the beating of her pulse against his thumb chased away the final vestiges of grief that lingered.

"Renewing your acquaintance with the Almighty?" Ethan helped her to her feet and they stood hand in hand in the aisle – a hopeful portent of events to come.

"Well, figured I owed him a nod of appreciation." Ethan shrugged, trying and failing to appear dismissive on the subject, "I'll get down on my knees and pray every night for the rest of my life, long as I get to spend that life with you, Van."

Vanessa grinned, closing her eyes as Ethan leaned forward, his forehead against hers, their hands each clasped in the other's.

"I believe that's being arranged as we speak," she giggled, her heart fluttering at the sensation of his lips against her cheek. His stubble and warm breath were becoming wonderfully familiar to her senses.

Ethan took a brief moment to glance up, noting with relief that Malcolm had located the errant Father, and the pair were now engaged in what appeared to be a cordial, and hopefully productive, conversation.

"Good, because I want this to be official… in the eyes of God, and… and all that," he held her gaze pointedly, his fingertips brushing the as yet empty space on her finger where he would delight in placing a wedding ring.

" _What God has joined together, let no man put asunder_?" Vanessa asked, the hallowed words bringing the light of pure joy to her face at the implication.

Ethan nodded hurriedly, "Man, devil, demon, and whatever else is out there that I don't even want to know about. This time I'm claiming you for my own, Vanessa. One soul. One flesh, just like it says in the Bible. None of that 'mother of evil' crap. You'll be mine; my wife, mother of our children…"

Reaching out with a trembling hand that betrayed his own emotion, he brushed away the tears that tripped her cheek. It was instinctive for her now to lean into his touch and so she did.

"This time, I will give myself freely," she vowed, "body, heart, and soul, with the very deepest of love."

The almost overwhelming happiness he felt at hearing her affirmation was only heightened by the feel of her pressed to his chest. Her arms encircled his waist in an embrace chaste enough for their surroundings, yet telling of the easy affection that now existed between them.

Finding themselves ushered over by Sir Malcolm, they began to walk hand in hand towards the front of the church.

"Tell me my love," Vanessa mused, her eyes twinkling with impish mirth all of a sudden, "shall I be Mrs. Ethan Chandler, or Mrs. Ethan Talbot?"

Ethan chuckled, shaking his head as he replied, "Darlin', you can call yourself whatever you want, so long as you call yourself mine."

"I do believe I am making something of a poet out of you," Vanessa teased. She squeezed Ethan's fingers gently and was pleased when he returned the gesture just as the couple drew to a halt in front of the priest. The man was balding with a heavy paunch, clearly a similar age to Sir Malcolm, if not of more advanced years. He clasped his hands in front of his robes as he spoke, a pleased smile lighting his face. His cheeks were ruddy and his voice was kind, and he was every preconceived notion of a man of the cloth that Vanessa had ever held. The hour drifted past them in almost the blink of an eye, and it was all too soon that they were spilling out of the church onto the snow encrusted pavement to begin their journey back home.

As they walked, Vanessa arm in arm with both of the men she loved most in the world, she found her eye drawn to a nearby shop window. The hairs on the nape of her neck stood erect and her breath escaped her in a cloud of white smoke as she stared in wonder across the street at the beautiful white lace gown that dominated the centre of the shop display.

At her side, Malcolm slowed his pace until he had also drawn to a standstill, his gaze following Vanessa's with interest. He soon acknowledged the source of her awe, a smile playing across his lips.

"It is magnificent," he murmured, leaning over her shoulder in order to whisper in her ear. Ethan stood in confusion at their sides, perhaps not yet understanding why their small group had stopped so abruptly and just what held the attention of his future wife so raptly.

"It is yours, if you would like it to be," Malcolm continued, an almost hesitant expression crossing his features as Vanessa turned to stare sharply at him. He hastened to add, "That is, if it isn't too forward of me to suggest as much."

Shaking her head, Vanessa tore her gaze from the gown only long enough to glance at each of the men in turn.

"No! Thank you, Malcolm, it's a very kind offer, but I'd feel… silly. I'm not a young girl any more, and…" arching an eyebrow at Ethan, she added quietly, "I'm hardly the blushing bride."

The thought of wearing a bridal gown had never crossed Vanessa's mind. There were plenty of beautiful, if not slightly solemn dresses in her wardrobe that would be perfectly serviceable for the occasion. She had never been one to dream of her wedding day with girlish fantasy. Yet there was a pang of desire deep within her heart that made her want to experience the moment. To truly live, and create memories so much better than those of her previous years on Earth.

"My dear, when you have reached my lofty years, then you may consider yourself no longer amongst the young," Malcolm chuckled. However, his tone softened in a telling fashion as he continued, "You will make a beautiful bride, Vanessa, whatever you choose to wear. But I would like to do this… as one of my gifts to you. And perhaps, a little for myself? Allow me to see one of my daughters dressed for her wedding day?"

Ethan nodded resolutely, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Vanessa's cheek, "A wise man, Sir Malcolm."

Winking at Vanessa playfully, Ethan gave her hand a squeeze.

"Now, I find myself in need of a ring." First repeating the kiss, Ethan then gestured to the window and whispered, " _Try it on_!"

Ethan sauntered away from the two, shooting only one backward glance at Vanessa in order to determine if she had moved a single inch further towards the shop. She had not, but he had no doubt that Malcolm would be able to persuade her in time.

"Come, let's simply look," Sir Malcolm suggested, offering his arm to Vanessa. She latched onto it quickly and with a smile of her own pulling at her lips; she was certainly enamoured by the gown, but mostly she was amused by Malcolm's enthusiasm, the likes of which she had not witnessed for a very long time.

"Well, no harm ever came from looking," she conceded as they crossed the street, mindful of oncoming carriages and a few women pushing prams. When they drew level to the window, Vanessa realised that the distance had not even begun to do the dress justice. She moved so that her nose was almost pressed to the glass pane, like that of a child staring in the window of a toy shop.

"You deserve this and so much more," encouraged Malcolm, a wistful look in his eyes as he regarded Vanessa. She smiled back at him and he reached across the expanse between them to lay a gloved palm against her cheek.

"I'm not sure what I deserve," Vanessa lamented, indecision flickering across her face as she confessed, "I had a dream once… a vision, I suppose. The demon offered me everything it knew my heart desired."

"In exchange for your soul?" Malcolm guessed, his grip on her arm tightening as she nodded. "May I ask what exactly it was he offered?"

A faint blush graced her cheeks and Vanessa paused in the doorway of the shop as she admitted with slight embarrassment, "Everything I tried to convince myself I didn't want. Love, a family of my own… But I confess I'd given up on that life, until I met Mr. Chandler. All of a sudden I desperately wanted those things; to be a wife, a mother… to belong somewhere."

Sensing her mood about to grow melancholy, Malcolm patted her hand, "You shall have everything your heart desires and more, Vanessa. And… I believe I shall be a splendid grandfather!"

Vanessa laughed, a genuine spark of mirth glistening in her eyes, "If not an entirely indulgent one."

Malcolm shrugged, opening the door for her and glancing up at the sound of the jingling bell that instantly sent a sales girl bustling in their general direction. "Perhaps the sins of my past can be corrected."

Vanessa ran her eyes over every gown in the shop as Malcolm conversed with the assistant, who fluttered her eyelashes at him in a probable attempt to encourage him to part with his money. Vanessa found that no gown was as splendid to her eye as the one displayed in the window, and she allowed a smile to overtake her as she contemplated the idea of wearing it in just a few short days.

"Are you getting married?" a small, innocent voice pressed her from at her elbow. Faintly surprised, Vanessa wheeled around, one hand at her chest to still her pounding heart.

"Goodness, I did not hear you," Vanessa gasped, forcing a laugh from her lips as she worked to look somewhat less flustered. The young, blonde girl peered back at her, no trace of amusement in her eyes or her features. In her hand, she clutched what appeared to be a brand-new porcelain doll, which seemed somewhat odd given the shabby state of her own clothing.

"Are you to be wed?" the little girl pressed, cocking her head as she observed Vanessa. She wrapped an arm around the neck of her doll and pulled it tight to her chest.

"I am," Vanessa answered, quick to add, "that is a very beautiful doll. What is her name?"

"Vanessa," the girl replied, a smile finally finding its way to her lips as she ran her fingers through the doll's auburn curls. "Who are you to be married to? Did you meet a handsome man?"

Grinning at the girl's candidness, Vanessa said, "The most handsome man you could imagine."

One eyebrow arched, the young girl smiled still, yet the gesture somehow made Vanessa's blood run cold. "As handsome as an army captain… like Charles?"

The breath left her body in a short, sharp gasp, and Vanessa stumbled back, eyes wide. "No. It can't be. This cannot be…"

The child laughed, brushing her doll's ringlets between her fingers as her giggles betrayed her more sinister motives.

"Silly girl! I thought for sure you would recognise me, my dear friend… my dear sister. It seems my father has claimed you as his own, but perhaps there is some truth to that. A truth known only to him and your whore mother. But no matter… I am home now."

Vanessa let loose a strangled sob, feeling the pull of unconsciousness drag her towards the ground. Yet even as she felt her knees give way beneath her, her eyelids began to flicker rapidly and her eyes rolled back into her head whilst the visions assaulted her mind.

A hospital ward, a dying child, a grieving family; and something unearthly and wretched that had risen, wearing the poor girl's corpse like a fine silk glove.

**x-x-x**

She awoke with a cry, sitting bolt upright and finding immediately that gentle hands were restraining her. She fought their attempts to settle her back against the couch she lay upon, her eyes wild and her heart beating a staccato rhythm that couldn't be at all healthy.

"Let me go, let me go!" she demanded, her voice rising in pitch as she thrashed her arms about. Her hand must have connected with something or someone, because she felt the impact. When she heard a yelp of pain, she realised it must have been the latter.

"Easy, Van, calm down," a familiar voice urged her, and Vanessa found herself immediately soothed by it. She collapsed back against the couch cushions, tears springing to her eyes as she struggled to correct her breathing. She was in danger of hyperventilating and she had no desire to be tugged under by unconsciousness yet again.

"Hey! Hey!" his firm voice directed, and a careful hand moved to cup her face and turn her panicked gaze towards his own.

Staring at her in obvious concern, Ethan sat down on the couch she rested on. His thumb massaged her cheek as he willed her to regain control of her senses. "It's just me, it's okay."

Vanessa seemed to calm, her breathing no longer laboured and fast, and yet the haunted expression behind her eyes remained.

"Ethan…" she gasped, clasping her hand over his and seeking his touch until her tears trickled down the back of his hand.

Terrified beyond the point of reason, the American cast a furtive glance over her entire body, not at all reassured by Victor's appraisal of the situation as a fainting fit brought about by the stress of their upcoming nuptials.

"Is something wrong? Are you… are you sick? You scared the shit out of me, Van. When Malcolm carried you out of that store, I…" He closed his eyes, willing the images of her blood drenched body to leave his mind, yet they remained, taunting him, reminding him of his sins.

Shaking her head in misery, Vanessa shuffled closer to his body and threw her arms around his neck. Burying her face into his chest, she allowed herself a moment to take a breath as his hands swept over her back.

"The damned soul that followed us back from that place…" Vanessa began, her eyes suddenly searching the room for sight of Sir Malcolm.

"You saw it?" Ethan released her from his arms, holding her elbows at arm's length. He noted with rising trepidation the mournful and also guilty expression that had settled on her features.

"Mina," she replied simply, her voice scarcely a whisper, "it was Mina."

The following silence was heavy and suffocating. Vanessa could almost see Ethan wrestling with the truth, not managing to conceal his shock, fury and fear as they tackled him all at once.

"Are you sure?" he pressed, grim and sober. She nodded an emphatic yes and Ethan felt his heart sink to his gut. Just when they thought they were to be granted some peace, some respite from the evils of the world. Would this always be the story of their lives? Would they be constantly locked in some sort of battle between the forces of good and evil? Were they doomed to run from things that would do them harm for the rest of eternity?

Ethan shook his head hard, with it shaking away his own thoughts, which had grown momentarily too maudlin. He had never been one to give up so easily, and now that he had Vanessa back in his arms he was determined to make sure that she maintained her own fighting spirit.

"We'll handle it, then," he said, and with such unwavering resolve that Vanessa could not doubt him for even a second. Despite the frown that dominated her lips, which had grown too accustomed to wearing a smile over the last day, she nodded her head again.

"Together," she resolved, although she could not thwart the stream of tears that began to leak from the corners of her eyes. "But however will I tell Malcolm?"

Ethan shook his head helplessly. Keeping Malcolm in ignorance of the truth would be potentially disastrous, especially given the spirit's assumed motives. After all that had transpired between them, they owed him answers. He had after all been the one to take the fatal shot that killed his own beloved daughter, and he was sure that was a fact her vengeful spirit would not have forgotten.

"We tell him together. He needs to know."

Vanessa let her head rest against the solidity of his chest, her spirits well and truly deflated.

"I had allowed myself such fanciful, indulgent daydreams today. I feel almost foolish now for entertaining them."

"No," Ethan scolded her, his fingertips caressing the nape of her neck as he angled her chin upwards. "Whatever happens… this week ends with us as man and wife. In the meantime, I'm not leaving your side for a moment."

Vanessa attempted a smile but the dark clouds swirling in her irises told of her fear and sorrow. Mina was full of malice towards her, and perhaps now Ethan too. They could not afford to be complacent, he was right.

"How should we…?" Vanessa posed only half the question, cocking her head towards the doorway rather than finish her utterings. Nevertheless, Ethan knew what she was referring to.

"We do it now. Make it quick and…" Ethan trailed off. He had been poised to say 'painless'. Somehow that summation did not seem quite right for the information they were about to impart to Malcolm.

Vanessa's gaze fell to her lap and she hesitated for a moment as her conscience once again reminded her of the indiscretions of her youth.

"It may not be Sir Malcolm's actions that motivate Mina's wish for vengeance. I am the one responsible for taking away her happiness," she added in little more than a whisper, "Perhaps she is set to prevent mine."

Ethan sighed as he reached towards Vanessa and gathered her hand in his own. His thumb stroked her skin and she squeezed his fingers in return, although her eyes refused to meet his.

"Not one of us here is perfect, Van," he said, obvious regret colouring his tone, "I wish that I could say we were, but we've all made mistakes… some more than others."

He paused, closing his eyes against the sound of Sembene's screams echoing in his own mind. He reigned in a shudder at the last second before managing to push the tormenting memory away.

"Yet you are one of the best people I know," he continued, crouching down in front of Vanessa and ducking his head to intercept her gaze, "you sacrificed your life for the world; you put the fate of billions of souls you've never even met before your own. Your mistakes don't define you. You don't deserve this… or any other kind of 'punishment'."

Hearing the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, Vanessa sucked in a slow breath. She worked hard to force a smile as the door to the study opened and Sir Malcolm strode in, a genuinely delighted expression in place as his eyes landed on the pair.

"Ah, good, good. You're feeling better, I trust?" he checked, gazing with concern at Vanessa as he sat at her side and ran his eyes over her in a thoroughly analytical manner.

She nodded her head before she glanced up at Ethan, who she had sensed was about to speak. Malcolm's seemingly exuberant mood would apparently not be dampened – or even briefly halted – and he continued on, oblivious to how the air in the room had changed.

"I hope you won't mind but I took the liberty of having the dress ordered. The ladies assured me that it will be delivered bright and early on Friday morning."

"Thank you," Vanessa said, although her voice was strained and tight. Her smile was a poor façade but Malcolm seemed not to notice in all his excitement. Ethan, offering his support as usual, moved closer into Vanessa's side. Their hands were joined together, hers fitting inside his like a key inside a lock.

"I must say, I have not felt quite so nervous in a while, perhaps since my own nuptials," Malcolm chuckled, shaking his head in awe at his own exuberance, "we have our work cut out for us if we are to be prepared by Friday."

"Malcolm," Ethan began, his sombre tone immediately drawing the other man's attention. Malcolm's brow creased, and he glanced from Ethan to Vanessa and back again with a frown tugging at his lips. It took several seconds for his shoulders to sag and darkness to cloud his features once more.

Sourly, he inquired, "We are in some manner of trouble again, aren't we?"

A sense of panic suddenly overcame the older man as, jumping to wrongful conclusions, he began to ponder the possible implications of Vanessa's collapse. "My dear, are you unwell? Is this… Is this a consequence of what we…"

"No, no," Vanessa hurried to soothe him, reaching out and placing her free hand over his. "Nothing like that, I assure you. I am quite well."

This time her smile was genuine, and Malcolm sighed in relief, patting her hand and securing it with his own.

"The spirit that followed us out of purgatory, or whatever the fuck that place was… It was Mina," Ethan stated, blunt and striking straight to the heart of the point, as usual. Generally, it was one of the things that Vanessa found she loved most about him. However, in the face of Malcolm's utter devastation, it was somehow less charming.

Vanessa sharply drew a breath, which she did not seem to release even ten seconds later whilst she watched Malcolm grapple with the knowledge imparted to him.

His features had crumbled almost instantly, and when he swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat it was an audible action.

" _My_ Mina? My… my daughter was condemned to that terrible place?" he choked. Pressing a balled up fist to his lips, he fought to master his emotions.

"Her soul was not condemned," Vanessa said, closing her eyes as the vivid images of the vision she had been assaulted with earlier returned to her. "It was her choosing to remain there and to try to find a way back. It was she who appeared to you both as my spectre. I would not have had you risk your life for mine. But I'm afraid the situation is perhaps graver than we feared."

Malcolm blanched, a bitter chuckle rising from the hollow of his chest. "More grave than my daughter's soul returning to torment me?"

"She came to me. In the bridal shop. She has somehow assumed the body of a young girl, little more than a child. One destined for the grave… a victim of disease." Vanessa shook her head sadly, "I do not know what her intentions are, Malcolm. But she bid me to relay a message. _She has come home_."

Malcolm was silent for several moments, the anguish plainly scrawled across his face. In his mind, he could relay so many joyful moments, which were now all lost to time and tragedy.

Squeezing Vanessa's hand, he lifted his gaze to regard the couple. His blue eyes were near obscured by the fresh tears welling there, yet there was a steely determination in his voice when he spoke.

"Whatever it is that arrives on my doorstep, whatever vile creature, whatever perversion of nature may call upon me 'father', that is not my daughter. It is not _my_ Mina. I shall not allow it to destroy the happiness I now see within all of our reaches."

Vanessa longed to somehow comfort the man, but she could hardly understand the depths and breadths of his feelings on the matter. She had yet to be blessed with children of her own, and she did not want to begin imagining what it might feel like to bury one. Malcolm had endured that particular torment twice in his life already, or perhaps thrice if Vanessa were to count herself into the equation, as Sir Malcolm assured her he did. There was very little she could say that could balm the sore, just empty words that would seem hollow to her own ears as well as everyone else's. How she longed to change things with every last fibre of her being, but she knew that there was no going backwards, only forwards. Sometimes, that proved to be the more painful path; there was a peculiar kind of agony that went hand in hand with the task of leaving lost loved ones in the past, even though that was often where they belonged.

"I know it changes nothing but… for my part in all of this… I am truly, deeply sorry," Vanessa murmured, her eyes downcast. Her hands trembled in a visible demonstration of her own shame. For Mina's loss at least, she was guilty.

Malcolm nodded, brushing irritably at the tears that betrayed him, but he squeezed her hand that little bit tighter.

"Hush now," he soothed, patting her hand and offering her a warm smile, "it does none of us any good to revisit the past. We are all guilty of some misadventure. I fear my own decisions in the past have been far from exemplary. I was a stranger to my children and little more than a visitor in their lives. But I loved them, despite my sins… oh how I loved them… and I simply will not… no, I _cannot_ lose you again."

Forgoing all sense of propriety – perhaps something that had long since been tossed aside among the small family – Vanessa threw her arms around his neck, uncertain if it was comfort she offered or sought. Malcolm held her fast, peering over her shoulder to meet Ethan's eyes.

"Whatever we must face, we face it together," Malcolm reaffirmed, offering Vanessa a clean handkerchief from his breast pocket.

She nodded, face still buried in his shoulder, and he stroked the back of her head in a gesture that was almost absent now for its familiarity.

"So, I know we just sprung this on you, Malcolm, but what's our next move here?" Ethan pressed, leaning back against the couch and relaxing slightly now that the worst of the bad news had been delivered.

Malcolm paused, allowing Vanessa to break free from his embrace and wipe the tear tracks from her face with the handkerchief.

"I dare say that if we simply wait, Mina will make her presence known to us again," he said, his tone obviously hesitant. "However, I am loathed to allow as much."

"I'm gathering she's after more than just a social call," agreed Ethan, the hidden meaning behind Malcolm's cautious words evident to him. "You think we can find a way to send her back to where she came from? Maybe draw her out in the open?"

"I would wager it would be possible," he replied, fighting to iron out the unease and sorrow that was working its way across his expression, "I could perhaps speak with the Father again, although I have no idea how well versed he may be in matters of the occult."

"It seems to me that the safest bet is the good doctor," Ethan stated. He did not miss the immediate scowl that dominated Malcolm's face, or the irritable huff he breathed in the next instant.

"I feel perhaps I should offer the 'good doctor' a salaried position," Malcolm stated wryly, his eyes locking squarely with Ethan's. "You yourself are familiar with the service of exorcism, are you not?"

Releasing a pained sigh, the American shrugged with obvious reluctance, "I can fumble my way through it, if I have to."

As the somewhat traumatic and sordid memory passed between them, Vanessa moved closer as Ethan lifted his arm to draw her into his side. Neither of them wanted to remember her in that state - under the thrall of the demon and crazed with its dark magic. Although, it was perhaps slightly less sickening to Ethan than the memory of his gun pressed to her abdomen, and the weight of her corpse in his arms.

"Good," Malcolm stated, "but you must not put yourselves in harm's way. Take no risks, think only of your own safety. I fear Mr. Lyle will not be inclined to join us in this venture. He has taken to his country house in Scotland, so it shall be just the four of us… should Victor agree to such things."

"He hasn't let us down yet," Ethan remarked, absently tangling Vanessa's fingers with his own. The feel of her bare skin against his own was a sudden reminder of the golden sapphire ring that nestled in a velvet pouch in his pocket, along with their new wedding bands.

"I suppose I shall begin making arrangements then," Malcolm declared, shuffling out of the room in a far more subdued manner than he had entered it.

Ethan and Vanessa were left sitting in silence, which could be looked upon as both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, the peace was welcome given the gravity of what they were about to face, and yet on the other it only added to the foreboding with which Vanessa regarded the coming storm.

"This is nothing," Ethan said firmly, seeming to read Vanessa's dark thoughts as she sat staring at her lap.

"I wouldn't quite say that," she countered, raising her gaze just slightly and pursing her lips, "Mina is angry, perhaps justifiably so. As she sees it, I am the reason for her death. I have taken everything from her that there is to take, and I truly believe that she means to make me pay for that."

Gathering her hands in his, Ethan waited until Vanessa had turned to face him before he sought out her eyes. The smile he offered bordered on mischievous and Vanessa's brow creased as she noted his sudden shift in demeanour, which hardly seemed appropriate. Perhaps even a shade of nervousness seemed to have suddenly overcome him.

"Hey, do something for me will you, darlin'?" His grin widened as Vanessa shot him a suspicious look, and he couldn't help but chuckle at her uncharacteristic uncertainty. "You trust me, Van?"

"Implicitly," she replied quickly and with ease. She watched his lips descend upon hers and almost purred when they actually kissed. He drew away far too soon, leaving Vanessa wanting more as always. She closed her eyes, hoping that being blind to him would abate her longing.

She barely just managed to chime in, "Although don't think I have not spied the hint of mischief in your eyes, Mr. Chandler."

He kissed her again, and the feel of his smile against her lips almost left her breathless. Ethan managed to fumble somewhat blindly in his pocket for the ring whilst Vanessa sought out his lips once more.

"Keep your eyes closed," he directed in a whisper, noting how she shivered at the sensation of his breath against her skin. Unable to resist, Ethan dragged a line of kisses down her neck, delighted when the thrum of her pulse increased in urgency against his lips.

"Ethan…" she began, suddenly perfectly still and quiet as she felt the cool metal being gently pushed onto her finger.

"Shhh… open your eyes."

Vanessa's eyes dutifully fluttered open, but they remained locked adoringly on Ethan's face until he had pushed the engagement ring all the way down to the base of her wedding finger. He brushed his thumb over the trinket to redirect her gaze, and immediately she released a gasp.

"I believe it's customary for a gentleman to present his betrothed with a token of his affection," he said with a lazy smile as he recollected her hands in his. The diamonds and sapphires glinted in the daylight - a bright yet rich shade of blue that was perfectly offset by the miniature diamonds that surrounded them. "Now, I'm not exactly a purveyor of fine jewels, but… I saw this, and… I thought of you."

Emphasising his point, he lifted one hand slowly and brushed his thumb across her cheekbone, allowing himself to stare into the azure eyes that seemed to be a perfect match to the precious stones.

"It is breath taking," Vanessa whispered, her tone earnest as she reached up and ran her hand through Ethan's hair. Her grin was so wide that it almost seemed as though she had completely forgotten about the matter at hand. Only the faint glint of unease in her eyes betrayed her.

"Just like the woman wearing it," Ethan countered, and he moved forwards quickly to seal his affirmation with a kiss. Vanessa reciprocated, melting into him as though she was helpless to do anything else. When they drew apart a few seconds later, Vanessa could feel her heart thrumming insistently. Ethan peered down at her, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks and his eyes still trained on her lips.

"We will be okay," Vanessa said, sucking in a deep breath before she added, "you are quite right. I must be sure of it, if I want it to be true."

"That's my girl," encouraged Ethan, his chuckle half teasing. He bowed his head, ready to steal another kiss, which Vanessa was more than willing to grant him.

Pausing to catch her breath, Vanessa let her cheek rest against his, and Ethan greedily drank in her presence; the hum of desire he could still feel on his lips, the scent of her skin, and the way her body fit against his own. Two imperfect halves creating a whole.

Though they had decided that more intimate relations would wait until their wedding night, a palpable desire burned and sparked between them. All too soon their lips were meeting hungrily again.

For a brief interlude at least, the machinations of the 'other' – of the darkness that existed beyond the shadows of the demimonde - was eclipsed by the light they had found in each other.

**x-x-x**

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a long time indeed since my last confession."

Father Fitzgerald started, releasing an audible gasp as he straightened up from his position at the altar, where he had been tending to an arrangement of flowers that had begun to wither.

At first, he thought the interruption a joke and he was mildly angered by it. There were not many dedicated churchgoers who did not know the correct place for a confession to take place. However, when he spun on his heel, his countenance softened upon seeing the young girl standing before him. She was a mere child, and perhaps she truly did not know the proper way of things yet. It was his job as part of the clergy to teach and instruct her, and he vowed quickly that he would not do so in frustration. She certainly seemed earnest enough, standing before him with her hands clasped in front of her pretty, white dress. In fact, she looked the very picture of innocence, and the father found that his smile came easy.

"Good evening, child," he said, taking a step forward and nodding his head to punctuate his greeting. "Usually we prefer to conduct such business in the confessional box. If you would care to return at…"

"I have been very bad, I fear," the girl declared, her eyes downcast and her voice melancholy. The father felt his heart seize for her; she who was probably avoiding her parents after some sort of childish indiscretion that truly would not matter in an hour's time. He remembered being a child himself well. He had been quite the hellion, as his mother had liked to tell it. Still, he had found his way to God and the cloth, and in turn a life that had made his parents' hearts swell with abject pride before they had died.

"I am almost certain it is not as terrible as all that," he said, a kindly look in his eyes as he observed her, shuffling from one foot to the other whilst she hung her head. "It seldom is."

Though the child appeared to be an unthreatening presence, the priest couldn't help the sense of inherent unease that had begun to creep up on him. Indeed, when the girl lifted her gaze to regard him patiently, he blanched when he noted the red specks colouring her eyes, where small haemorrhages had begun to occur. On closer examination, he saw that her bloody gaze was framed by dark circles, which offset the almost unearthly pallor of her skin.

Taking a step backwards, the priest's eyes searched the church for any sign of life. Finding none, he took another step of retreat and then another, noting with a gasp how his breath was suddenly being expelled from his lips in cloud of white. The chill of the air permeated his robes until he found himself trembling. The sudden stench permeating the air, something skin to rotting meat, set his stomach lurching and he was forced to reach out a hand to the altar to grasp the wooden railings for support.

Mina smiled almost shyly. Her gaze dipped down to the ground and she clasped her hands behind her back, testing the weight of the heavy brass crucifix in her small, borrowed hand.

Mina chuckled with a roll of her shoulders that resembled a shrug. The smile she offered the man before her was nothing short of sinister.

"Oh Father, you have no idea!"

An hour later the alarm would be raised by the church warden, with the Father conspicuously missing from his post, and a sticky smear of blood staining the stones beneath the altar.


	5. She with all her magic, went into the night

**Apologies for the long gap between updates, but unfortunately real life got exceptionally busy. Now things have quietened down we promise we'll be finishing this fic. We also have plans for a sequel, should you be interested in finding out what happens next.**

**As always, thank you for reading.**

* * *

 

Although it was almost immediately apparent to Ethan that he was dreaming, he couldn't seem to calm the thundering rhythm his heart adopted when he attempted to move his wrists only to find them bound to stakes wedged into the ground.

He turned his head as best he could to the right and his eyes immediately fell upon the face of a familiar figure, who had been trussed up by his side. Ethan opened his mouth to call out to the Father, but no sound emerged past his own lips. From somewhere far away he could hear weeping, and yet Ethan was more concerned by the figure of the young girl striding towards him, wielding a ceremonial knife. A smile lit her face, which was unnaturally grey even in the darkness.

The blade glinted in the moonlight and Ethan struggled against his bonds with renewed urgency. He heard a noise somewhat similar to the crackle and pop of flames, but he could feel no heat radiating towards him.

The sobbing intensified, and there was suddenly also a strange man's voice pleading for mercy. Scanning the wooded clearing he found himself in, Ethan realised that another man had been similarly bound at the Father's other side. The three men appeared to be positioned at measured intervals around a stone laden circle, clearly for some kind of sacrificial purposes.

The other man was older than Ethan, with a rapidly receding hairline and a whiskered beard that reached past the collar of the suit he was clothed in. The sleeves of his jacket were ripped and tattered where he had been restrained, and the lower buttons of his shirt were open to reveal a paunch that told of good living.

With the face of the young girl once more dominating his view, Ethan's eyes widened as she raised the dagger aloft. His body felt heavy, paralysed, and he began to blink rapidly in an attempt to wake himself up. As she plunged the gleaming blade down towards his chest, he sat up with a gasp and a start.

Ethan's hands gripped the arms of the chair he had fallen asleep in – exhausted by his vigil over Vanessa the previous evening – and he rubbed his face wearily whilst he attempted to ground himself by taking in the details of the drawing room; the ticking clock on the mantle, the faint smell of tobacco smoke in the air, the deep crimson and emerald greens of the furnishings in the expansive room.

His heart returned to a more measured pace and Ethan found himself able to suck in a breath to help steady his trembling. It was uncharacteristic for a dream to bother him so, but Ethan was becoming more adept these days at recognising a vision from a mere nightmare.

Ethan used the arms of the chair to push himself to his feet and, once he was up, he wasted no time in leaving the room in search of Sir Malcolm or his bride to be. He found the hallway empty and quiet, which was unsurprising given that the grandfather clock chose that moment to chime the hour; midnight.

With a frown, Ethan took to the stairs, one hand gripping the bannister so tightly that his knuckles paled. He paused outside Vanessa's closed bedroom door in order to knock, and a smile flashed across his features for a moment at the sound of her voice beckoning him inside. If all was to go to plan then in just a few short days they would be man and wife, and her chambers would also be his. Ethan could hardly wait. Nothing would be more soothing to his soul than being able to fall asleep every night with Vanessa tangled in his arms and her warm breath caressing his cheek.

"I know it's late," Ethan began as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Vanessa turned to greet him immediately from her position at the stool at her dressing table, where she sat brushing out her hair. Her smile was wide, and Ethan couldn't help but return the gesture.

"That's quite alright," Vanessa assured him, laying down her ornate brush and folding her hands in her lap.

Ethan took a seat on the edge of her bed, glancing around the room and smiling as he noted the black cat curled up in the centre of the covers. The animal slept soundly, and he heard Vanessa laugh softly as she followed his gaze.

"I believe you have met my new companion already," she chuckled, moving to sit next to Ethan and then reclining over the centre of the bed so as to allow her fingertips to gently stroke the thick fur of the feline. Vanessa's pet stretched and purred in response, although her eyes remained tightly closed despite her mistress' attentions.

"She seems to have claimed this room as her own in my absence, and I confess I enjoy her company. I feel far more at ease with her here beside me."

Vanessa kept her hand on the cat's back as Ethan's gaze raked over her. He had to smile at the image before him. With Vanessa clad in a dark blue robe, and her inky black hair cascading down her shoulders, the picture was indeed striking. The witch and her familiar.

"I was going to beckon you to come to bed, but you were in such a deep sleep I did not want to disturb you." This time when she reached out it was to caress his cheek. "I know you stayed awake to watch over me the previous evening."

Ethan smiled and offered her a half-hearted shrug. He captured her hand and pressed a kiss into the centre of her palm, as though gifting it to her. "I just wanted to be sure I wasn't dreaming. That you were really there."

Vanessa's grin grew and she rested her other hand on Ethan's knee, brushing her thumb across his leg whilst she peered up at him. She managed to detect a slight shift in his features just seconds before his adoring expression melted away to one of mild discomfort.

"A problem shared is a problem halved, or so they say, my love," she coaxed, squeezing Ethan's knee before withdrawing her hand. With a sigh and a nod first, Ethan peered into Vanessa's eyes and recounted the details of the vision that had wrenched him from slumber.

Vanessa remained quiet for a while after he had finished speaking, wearing a troubled frown that drew her brows downwards and made her shoulders somehow slump.

When she turned her eyes towards him it was with a familiar fear once more reignited behind her irises, and Ethan hated himself in that moment for revisiting such terror upon her. He had never seen her smile and laugh as freely as he had in the last day since her 'rebirth'. The troubles and toils that had weighted down her soul appeared to have been lifted. Now instead he was watching her succumb once more to the grip of fear, and it ate away at him to cause her such pain when all he wanted was to bring her happiness and light; two things that Vanessa Ives seemed to have been denied for most of her adult life.

"Two other men, you say?" she murmured, her lips setting into a tight line as he nodded, "bound and displayed to the heavens, and a ceremonial dagger?"

Once again Ethan bobbed his head. His eyes were diverted suddenly to the cat as she stretched out of her slumber before rubbing her arched back under then around Vanessa's arm. Then, she curled into a ball on the woman's lap, almost as if trying to provide her comfort.

"What you saw is a ritual… a sacrifice to the dark lord. A soul is returned to each of the domains of the other world… one destined for Heaven, one for Hell, and one for… for Purgatory," she cast her gaze down towards the purring animal, her fingers absently stroking the tip of a velveteen ear.

"And in return?" Ethan asked, although he was afraid he perhaps already knew the answer to his question. He had felt it, even smelled it in the burning embers and smoke that had invaded his senses; the overwhelming stench of death.

"For the sacrifice of death, the Dark One brings forth life… unnatural, undead… a creature that exists in contradiction to the laws of man and heaven. It is a ritual of necromancy."

" _Raising the dead_ ," Ethan completed her sentence, his mind reeling around one of the elements of her explanation. One soul destined for Hell. "And I guess I'm the ideal sacrifice, huh?! My soul's marked. Cursed by the beast that lives inside me."

Vanessa looked up sharply, visibly appalled at the suggestion.

"No!" she shook her head, gently prying the sleeping feline from her lap and placing her onto the bed. With obvious urgency, Vanessa climbed to her feet and moved to stand between Ethan's knees. She rested one hand on his shoulder and the other against his cheek, urging him to meet her eyes by sheer presence alone.

"Never! You are my protector… my saviour…"

Ethan snorted with disdain at her generous appraisal. He shook his head to dispel the images of Vanessa lifeless in his arms, as well as the faint traces of grief that still overcame him even in the joy of having her beside him again.

"And a pretty piss poor job I did of that, darlin'."

Vanessa's tone grew angry and her brows knitted together, her eyes almost burning a hole into Ethan as she glared indignantly.

"I am here, am I not? You saved my soul, you saved my life, Ethan. But you also saved all of creation from such darkness… You are the Wolf of God, my love. The Lord's warrior. Your soul is your own."

Perching on the edge of his lap, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him until her forehead rested against his temple, "And you have mine."

She took his hand and placed it against her chest, pressing his palm against the thin cotton of her nightdress until he could feel the steady pounding beneath her breast. " _Along with my heart_."

The breath Ethan expelled rattled him and Vanessa held him tight, anchoring him to her as though she could provide him with some much needed strength. Of course she could and she did, which only succeeded in making Ethan feel perhaps more guilty. He could not shake the thought that it was he who should be the one protecting Vanessa, both physically and mentally, as opposed to the reverse.

"We shall decide how best to deal with this new development in the morning," Vanessa promised, her voice a soft but decisive murmur. She jerked forwards and brushed her lips against Ethan's forehead, pleased when he consented to the smallest of smiles in response.

"Do you think we'll ever catch a break?" Ethan pondered, peering at Vanessa, who readjusted herself in his lap in order to fasten her arms around his neck once more. Softly, Ethan added, "Will we ever know peace?"

Without hesitation, Vanessa laid her forehead against Ethan's cheek, never minding the sensation of the evening stubble that peppered his jawline scratching her skin.

"I used to think that I desired nothing more than peace," confessed Vanessa, her palm sweeping across Ethan's chest and coming to rest on the back of his neck, "I prized above all else the very thing that evaded me, believing that it would bring with it contentment and finally drive away the fear that I lived with, gnawing away at me every moment of every day."

Ethan said nothing but made the quietest noise of affirmation deep in his throat. He could understand why Vanessa would feel that way, and in particular why she had eventually been unable to continue fighting. Her very soul had been exhausted.

"But now I wonder, is peace really what I long for? Is it the perfect quiet that makes our lives worth living? Or do we not find a kind of joy that propels us forward in the chaos… the din?"

Ethan smiled, his mind wandering into previously guarded territory that he was only just beginning to allow himself to indulge in again. He felt Vanessa push against his chest, directing him backwards until he reclined against the pillows. Blindly kicking off his boots, he released a drawn out yet contented sigh whilst Vanessa, mindful of not jarring the snoring cat who had made claim on the other side of the bed, lowered herself into his arms.

"You mean, a whole house full of kids, a couple of dogs, Malcolm's rowdy suppers…" He arched an eyebrow to comically punctuate his words, and then he revelled in the soft puff of laughter that left her lips.

"I think perhaps I'm more partial to the feline kingdom," she teased, reaching out and stroking the purring cat's head. Laying back against Ethan's chest, she continued with a mischievous smirk, "Besides, I fear there's only room for one hound in this house."

Ethan laughed and his arms fastened around her more snugly even as he replied, "I guess I'm lucky you let me sleep on the bed, huh?!"

It was strange, making light of the very thing that had sent him seeking her affections. But as always, she had taken his pain and this time made it theirs. Not, as Kaetenay had stated, solely hers; but theirs. Something for them to surmount and conquer together.

"Peace and silence are not for this world, Ethan. They are for the dead, and I think finally I should quite like to build my life among the living."

Allowing Vanessa's soft voice to wash over him, Ethan was somewhat soothed; the horrors of his nightmarish vision were somehow pushed far away by her lilting words and gentle hand. He tightened his grip around her waist and took just a moment to breathe the scent of her in. The barely there weight of her in his arms was a welcome sensation indeed, and not one that Ethan would ever relinquish again without a fight. One might even say a battle of epic proportions.

"You're right," he agreed finally, feeling Vanessa's lips curve into a smile since her cheek rested against his chest, "we'll be okay."

"We would not allow any other eventuality," Vanessa said, and she inclined her head slightly in order to brush her lips against the underside of Ethan's jaw.

It was somewhat novel to hear such certainty and – dare he say it – optimism, from Vanessa. In the couple of years he'd known her it had been unusual to even catch a smile from the young woman, let alone genuine laughter or mirth. To hear her then, so hopeful for the future, made his heart swell, and he knew he'd do everything in his power to ensure that they seized every wonderful possibility that their future perhaps held.

"Will you stay here tonight?" she asked sleepily, burrowing her head further into the curve of his neck and splaying her palm over his ribs. It seemed that she had already made the decision for him, and her enquiring on his plans for the evening was merely a formality.

"I'm not going anywhere, darlin'…" he promised softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead and simultaneously reaching out to snuff out the candle beside the bed with his thumb and finger.

With the light extinguished, Ethan's mind drifted to a conversation that seemed so long ago, when Vanessa had begged him to stay and for them to take solace in each other. She had offered her heart to him only to have it cruelly rejected in favour of his clearing a guilty conscience. Ethan had thought he had been saving her from further torment, but oh how wrong he had been.

Holding his fiancée tightly, as if suddenly consumed by regret and a fear of separation, he added, "You know, I reckon in the morning I'll be a whole lot less afraid."

With the smile that still curved upon her lips very much present in her voice, Vanessa murmured, "Now wouldn't that be wonderful."

**x-x-x**

It was a quiet corner of London he found himself within, as had become customary of a Friday evenings. His wife knew better than to inquire as to where exactly he was going, lest she be on the wrong end of his temper, or upon occasion even his fist. That was the way he liked things; he was the master of his house and he was beholden to no one, especially not a mewling female who did not even have it within her to bear him a son.

He stumbled just a little as he rounded the corner, passing by a pub from within which he could hear a cacophony of piano music, off key singing, and raucous laughter. He ignored it all, completely single minded in his purpose. The coins that jangled against each other in the pocket of his trousers were burning a proverbial hole in the expensive silk lining, and his mouth filled with saliva as he began to anticipate their spending. Perfectly rounded, pale breasts dominated his mind and he almost let out a groan right then and there in the street when he felt a tightening in his undergarments.

The alleyway was dark and narrow, lit only by the street lamp that was positioned near its entrance. It was a place most avoided for fear of pickpockets and thieves, which was frequented by ladies of the night who plied their trade in the cover of darkness. Police patrols barely passed by the area anymore, the Commissioner having resigned himself to the fact that desires of the flesh could not be dampened by a whistle blowing bobby, and that whilst men were willing to pay for this immoral service destitute women would be only too happy to supply it. Whilst the more high class prostitutes were wined and dined in hotels by bachelors who cared not for the prying eyes of the public, here, married men scurried about the night like rats, seeking the anonymity that the back streets of East London provided.

The man quickened his pace, casting a glance to his right and left, before he stepped into the shadows, his heart rate hitching with anticipation. The night air was thick and cold, and the chill seeped through the fabric of his trousers. Eyes narrowed, he swept his gaze over the three women who lined the alley, wrinkling his nose in revulsion as he noted how one was already pressed against the wall with her skirt raised and her palms flattened against the bricks. Faded posters advertising circuses and travelling shows gave traction to her dirty fingernails. Her present customer was neither gentle nor thoughtful, and his base grunts and frantic rutting made even this more discerning customer's stomach roll in disdain.

"Alright, sweetling… is there something old Mary here can help you with?"

A mouthful of black, decaying teeth framed by a smear of bright pink lipstick flashed in his direction. The older woman reached out towards him, attempting to entice her potential client by suddenly grabbing for his crotch. A lascivious wink hinted at much more pleasurable activities, for a price of course.

"Alice… Where's Alice?" he demanded, roughly slapping the woman's hand away and straightening his clothing as if he somehow held the moral high ground in the situation.

"Alice?" the woman repeated, patting her red hair with a shaking hand – no doubt the effects of the copious amounts of alcohol she had clearly consumed. Grey and white hairs peppered her temples, barely visible though in the pitiful light. She planted her hand on her hip and regarded the gentleman with evident impatience. "You one of her regulars, are ya? Well, you should know then, poor girl's pissing pins and needles. You better watch yourself, love, don't want no ungentlemanly goings on in your drawers, eh?!"

His jaw setting in anger, he pushed past the leering woman, heading back to the end of the alleyway with a dark cloud hanging over his head. Suddenly the coins in his pocket felt unbearably heavy, and he was irate with the knowledge that his needs would go unfulfilled. Of course he could well select another companion from the lengthy list that the whore house had to offer, but he and Alice had built up something of a shaky trust over the previous months; that was, he knew that he could rely upon her to go to the greatest of lengths to satisfy his needs, and she had learned that he paid fairly well for her time.

"Come on, lovely, don't be that way…" Mary called out, pausing to spit on the pavement at her side, where a sleek, grey rat had begun to scurry to and fro, searching for food. "We can work something out."

He continued walking, his head down lest he be recognised by someone. He held a fairly prominent and important job at the bank, and there were certain pretences to be upheld at all times.

The chimes of the nearby church bells indicated that it was now midnight, and his steps hurried as each toll beckoned the witching hour. Though the chances of being seen by an acquaintance in such an area of town were exceptionally low, the man pulled the collar of his dress coat up higher and held his head low nonetheless. He grimaced as he scurried by two beggars sitting cross-legged outside an abandoned pub. The rattle of their diseased chests produced clouds of thick, white fog before them, and he turned in disgust to begin to make his way across the street. Tuberculosis was still rife amongst the slums of the city, and so he fished in his pocket for the crisp, linen handkerchief that bore his illustrious initials in golden thread.

Coming to an abrupt stop, the gentleman found his path blocked by a girl, perhaps no more than his daughter's mere thirteen or fourteen years. Her white dress was stained with grime and spatters of blood, and her skin was ashen. Her eyes were almost black hollows within her face, which might have been quite lovely once upon a time.

"Away with you, child!" he waved his hand at her dismissively, assuming her distressing demeanour was due to rampant disease. "I said, away!"

The blonde-haired girl smiled at him slowly, as if his obvious fear and disdain brought nothing but mild amusement to her.

"I can take you to what you desire the most…" she stated, watching as his expression changed to one of surprise.

"And what do you know of the matter?" he eyed her suspiciously, keeping in mind the fact that several rather unscrupulous brothels thought little of offering whores that were merely children to their clients. Whilst his tastes ran to the more submissive, he was sickened that any man might force his carnal desires on a child. "Go home, girl. These streets are unsafe for one so young."

"Alice asked me to find you," the girl blurted out, toying with the dirty hem of her dress as she peered up at the man, who seemed surprised but not displeased by her claim.

"Alice?" he repeated, almost dumbly, "the hag said she was… indisposed."

The girl nodded, looking rueful. "Alice knew she might say as much. Begging your pardon, sir, but they had a disagreement and Alice has moved on. She paid me a little to lie in wait for her regular customers and…"

"Lying bitch," the man grunted under his breath, immediately furious with the crone who had so shamelessly fed him untruths just to line her own pockets. Whilst there was no sentimentality in business or whoring, Alice undoubtedly knew what he liked and was particularly talented at meeting his desires in a manner in which his own wife had never been. There was simply no reason to defect his custom elsewhere when she took care of him so well.

"I can take you to her, if you like?" the girl offered, a half smile quirking her pale lips upwards. He examined her face in the dim beam cast from the streetlight, searching for any subtle signs of deception. He found none and so he happily nodded his head, gesturing with one hand to indicate that she should run ahead of him. However, the girl shook her head again, blonde ringlets whipping her cheeks.

"This way, sir," she said, stepping aside and stretching one, delicate hand out towards the mouth of the alley behind her.

Though in hindsight he might have perhaps thought better of following a stranger down an alleyway in the heart of Whitechapel, it was a very different horror that overcame him; one that no common thief or ne'er do well was capable of imparting. And as the shadows engulfed him, a formidable terror seized his heart.

His screams were muffled by the rowdy song of pub patrons spilling out into the night, and even though others followed in his wake down the alleyway they did not notice the only remaining trace of his struggle; a crisp handkerchief abandoned on the ground.

**x-x-x**

Though morning had long since broken, the city of London had yet to be greeted by true daylight. The heavy winter had brought with it dark clouds and snow flurries, and even in the splendour of Grandage Place icicles had formed on the inside panes of the windows.

But Vanessa Ives was warm and content, stretched languidly beneath a mass of soft, heavy eiderdowns, and delighting in the weight of the man in her arms, who was happily peppering her skin with kisses.

Her fingers wove through his hair as she dared to bare her neck to his advances, dismissing the immediate pang of fear that twisted the pit of her stomach as she felt the ghost of another's breath caress her neck. Unlike the other men she had given herself to, Ethan's kisses were full of reverence and affection, though laced of course with an overpowering desire that each was desperately – if not half-heartedly – trying to rein in; if only until their union was made formal in the eyes of God. Vanessa knew that the heady desire that flooded her body at his touch wasn't something to be afraid of now that the demon was gone, and there was no concern that their wedding night would unleash anything within her other than the very deepest happiness.

Their lips met again and again in slow, languid kisses that encouraged her fingers to grip fiercely at his back. Her thighs wantonly secured his hips and her back arched as she clutched at him through a kind of feverish haze that was dissimilar to anything she had experienced before.

Ethan hurriedly broke their tryst, panting against her lips as he pressed their foreheads together. Then, he nuzzled the tip of her nose to elicit a smile that he knew he would never tire of seeing.

"We should…" he began breathlessly, intercepting the glint in Vanessa's eyes as she felt the evidence of his desire press against her thigh.

Although she had been poised to reply, Vanessa's gaze turned at once to the door when a gentle knocking stole their attention.

Looking slightly panic stricken, Ethan wrenched himself from her arms and hurriedly sat back against the bed frame before seizing a pillow, which he dropped into his lap. A rather strategic and wholly necessary move.

Vanessa, for her part, merely giggled. She reached out to demurely pull the bed covers over them whilst she too sat up, and closed the top buttons of her nightgown.

"Come in!" she called out, her smile unwavering although Ethan looked on with trepidation at the opening door.

Holding a silver tea tray in his hands, Malcolm eyed the two with poorly concealed amusement, noting the wary expression on the American's face. He deposited the tray onto the end of the bed, doing his upmost not to look too entertained by the situation.

"I thought perhaps you might like some breakfast. We have much to do today," Malcolm stated, finding his lips immediately drawn into a wide grin when Vanessa nodded and looked up at him with gratitude.

"We weren't… I mean… we weren't…" Ethan began to stammer. Vanessa, now apparently more than recovered from her mild embarrassment, lifted the lid of the small, china teapot and began to stir the leaves with a spoon that was engraved with Sir Malcolm's initials.

Malcolm chuckled, glancing down momentarily at the cat weaving around his ankles and mewling pathetically to see what the chances were that perhaps it might be her breakfast time, too.

"Lad, what you two were or were not doing is not of my concern." Scooping up the cat, Malcolm held her against his chest and stroked a hand down her ebony back. "Come along, beast. I'm certain there are some sardines to be found in the kitchen."

Nodding at each of them as he departed the room, Malcolm closed the door behind him, his rumbles of laughter following the sound of his footsteps down the hallway.

Casting her gaze over the tea tray, where two cups and saucers along with two large slices of cake sat side by side, Vanessa tugged on Ethan's shirt then nodded towards their bounty. Clearly Sir Malcolm had been only too aware of where he might find his colonial houseguest that morning.

Blowing out a breath, Ethan shoved aside the pillow and reached for a slab of cake, which he bit into with decisive vigour. His stomach rumbled and Vanessa chuckled in response as she poured tea into their cups.

"It seems you worked up quite the appetite, Ethan," she teased him, pleased to see the apples of his cheeks flush once more at her words. He said nothing through his mouthful of crumbs, simply shooting Vanessa a look that she could choose to interpret either as one of warning or one that conveyed his lingering desire.

"You are quite the tease, Miss. Ives," Ethan finally replied, and he was forced to work hard to thwart his own grin when Vanessa's expression broke into one of unbridled amusement.

"Oh I do hope so," she retorted easily, barely directing a glance at her husband-to-be as she continued to stir milk into the tea in their cups.

Picking up one cup that was carefully balanced on a matching saucer, Vanessa handed it to Ethan with a smile. A joyful giggle escaped her lips as he received the cup with a whispered 'thank you' and then captured her wrist in order to pull her closer for yet another kiss.

Ethan watched his bride closely, an adoring expression lingering on his face that Vanessa felt before she had even glanced up to court his gaze. Choosing her words carefully, she picked up her own cup and saucer then paused as she stared into the still swirling tea.

"You look at me as if you still mourn me. As if you miss me, somehow."

Shaking his head, Ethan reached out and took her hand, lacing their fingers together until their palms met.

"Darlin', I never want to stop looking at you. In fact, I plan on becoming quite the over-bearing husband."

Shooting him a sideways glance, Vanessa smiled good-naturedly at his taunting, although she realised that the truth perhaps lay in both of their words. There was still a hint of desperation in Ethan's eyes that spoke of raw grief - something she hoped would fade with time.

Ethan lifted up his arm and waited for her to move closer, until her head lay on his shoulder and her palm on his abdomen. Absently, she smoothed her hand over the cotton shirt and the taut muscles beneath it.

Planting a kiss to her temple, he asked, "So what's with this cake for breakfast deal, anyway? Not that I don't find it a charming eccentricity, especially if it extends to chocolate eclairs."

Reaching out carefully, he lifted the second plate up towards her and rested it on his lap. He watched in approval as she took the non-too-subtle hint and broke off a piece of the fruitcake, which she then lifted to her lips.

First slowly chewing and swallowing the morsel, Vanessa then arched a dark brow as she explained the tradition wistfully.

"When I was a child Sir Malcolm had a housekeeper. A matronly woman who ruled the household with an iron fist. Of course, the rest of the staff were absolutely terrified of her, but she was always kind to us children. Each morning when I'd arrive… scandalously bright and early, I might add…" she looked up at Ethan, who nodded sagely, "she would have three little plates laid out in the kitchen for us, adorned with enormous slices of whatever the family had eaten the previous evening. Peter would always eat his quickly and scamper off to play, but Mina and I would linger. She would tell us stories of her childhood. Old Irish myths and legends about beautiful princesses, and goddesses that could turn into butterflies."

Running the tip of his index finger along the line of Vanessa's collarbone, Ethan murmured into her ear, "Someday you can tell those stories to our children whilst we eat cake for breakfast."

Vanessa smiled, almost radiantly, gazing up at Ethan through her fan of dark lashes. Her hand toyed with the collar of his shirt, which was quite rumpled from having been slept in. The cake sat forgotten upon the lap tray, along with the cups of tea that were growing colder by the moment.

"Indeed," she whispered, eyeing his lips quickly before daring to lean forwards and brush a kiss against his waiting mouth. When she withdrew from his arms seconds later, she added with a gleam in her eyes, "As well as tales of fearsome witches, haunted mansions, and majestic wolves howling at the moon."

"Well, alright," Ethan drawled, arching an eyebrow as he surveyed her face with his gaze, "but _you_ are dealing with those nightmares."

Vanessa inhaled slowly, pressing her face into the warm skin of his neck and drinking in his presence all around her with a near euphoric sense of peace and contentment settling over her.

Taking his hand in hers, she laced their fingers, noting the size and strength of his hand in comparison to her own. Yet they fit together perfectly, as if they had been made for each other, which many had inferred was exactly the case.

"I confess I wish for that above most everything else," she said quietly, as if giving voice to her dream could somehow chase it away. Her brow furrowing further, she lifted their joined hands to her chest and curled into his body as though she was suddenly lost in thought.

She looked up at him with uncertainty, so desperate to be continually optimistic but finding herself beaten down by old insecurities. "Do you really think…"

Ethan lifted his hand to her cheek and brushed his thumb over the angle of her cheekbone, his eyes boring into hers with so much certainty that it took her breath away.

"We are gonna make the cutest damn kids you've ever seen, and they're gonna be beautiful, and smart, and stubborn and infuriating, and they are gonna love the heck out of you… just like I do." He smiled almost gently before leaning in and pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that he hoped revealed just how very much he loved her.

"Now," he added, pausing for just a moment, "unless you wanna get a head start on that, we gotta get out of this damn bed, cos you are killing me here."

Vanessa laughed, her eyes creasing at the corners with mirth as he swept his gaze over her with poorly veiled hunger. "There's that colonial charm that I love so dearly."

"Oh honey, I do what I can," he replied with a wink and an exaggerated drawl, and for a moment she found herself back at their very first meeting; each eying the other with suspicion and yet a deepening fascination, as a spark of attraction ignited between them that now promised to bind them together forever. Ethan Chandler was undeniably handsome, but he had been all the things that his countrymen were famous for – brash, opinionated, and vulgar. Of course Vanessa knew that he was also unfailingly loyal, brave, and kind-hearted, and it had been so easy to fall in love with him.

"Very well, then" she sighed resolutely, offering one final kiss before she slipped from the bed and picked up her robe from the back of the dressing table chair.

Ethan followed suit, heading towards the door so that he could begin his own morning routine and search out clean clothes from his room. He was looking forward to the day when all of their possessions would be side by side, in evidence of a life shared.

His hand had barely managed to curl around the door knob when there came a determined knocking from the other side of the frame. Wrenching the door open, his heart hammering insistently, Ethan stepped back to allow Malcolm to all but spill into the bedroom.

His expression fraught, Sir Malcolm glanced between the pair, his eyes haunted by the news he had uncovered in the morning paper. Hoisting the offending item up before him, he stated gravely, "It seems that Father Fitzgerald is missing. Taken… taken from the church."

Ethan's mind raced, flashes of his dream the previous evening beginning to make a horrible, sickening sense.

"A soul for Heaven?" he said quietly, eyes finding Vanessa as she reached out immediately for his hand.

"Perhaps." Vanessa lifted her chin in defiance, refusing to even contemplate defeat when happiness was almost within their reach. Though the demon that had plagued her had been banished, she was still as she always had been. A sensitive, perhaps. A psychic. Or, if Joan was to be believed, a witch. She thought perhaps that suited her better.

"We must find Mina and stop her," she said with such conviction that there was no room left for argument.

"And how do you propose we are to find her?" Malcolm interjected, feeling his heart begin to beat erratically within his chest.

Ethan stared straight ahead, jaw clenched in resignation. "We won't need to. She's coming after me next."

Squeezing his hand, Vanessa shook her head before slipping from his grasp and dropping down onto her knees at the side of her bed. Lifting the covers, she began to search blindly beneath the bed frame, grim determination painted across her features. After a moment, she pulled out an ancient looking wooden box, which slid across the floorboards with a heavy dragging sound.

Vanessa brushed her hand over the top of the item, staring with reverence and perhaps the slightest trace of trepidation at the carvings etched into the lid. But, as she once more lifted her blue eyes to the faces of the men standing before her, fire ignited in her gaze.

"Then I shall find her first."


	6. I Stood With You Against The Storm

"She can't have gotten far," murmured Sir Malcolm, even as he paced a trench in the floor by the foot of Vanessa's bed. His hands were clasped tight behind his back, his shoulders hunched, and his whole posture screamed at the tension that rolled through his body in waves. Ethan had to tear his gaze away from his friend, whose palpable grief might serve to perhaps distract him from the task at hand.

Carefully, he laid the map of England out across Vanessa's still rumpled sheets and then took a step away from the bed. His fiancé nodded her thanks to him somewhat curtly, already reaching inside her mysterious box to retrieve whatever tool she assured Ethan and Malcom would aid her in tracking down Mina.

With open curiosity, Ethan watched as Vanessa withdrew her hand, and he saw that clutched within it was a fine, white, silk handkerchief. The initials embroidered in silver thread caught the light, and Ethan's breath hitched as he noted the two letter M's stitched side by side. Malcolm eyed the trinket, obviously as surprised by its appearance as Ethan; neither of them had known that Vanessa had squirrelled away such a memento, and certainly neither of them might guess that she would take it out of its box from time to time only to pour over it with grief and guilt. She thought that she would never quite cease blaming herself for her role in Mina's undoing, no matter who else's forgiveness she may have earned since.

Wordlessly, Vanessa wrapped the handkerchief around her fingers before delving into the box again. This time, a crystal dangling from a silver chain hung from her fingertips, and it refracted rainbows onto the walls as it began to twirl unbidden in her grasp.

"A pendulum?" Ethan checked with a scowl, watching as Vanessa clasped the object in her hand before closing her eyes and muttering a plea for protection to secure the circle she was poised to open. He thought he heard the Lord's Prayer tumble from her lips, but it was her invocation of the Archangel Michael that seized his full attention.

Realising that elements of fear would perhaps always haunt Vanessa in the practice of her 'gifts', Ethan moved to stand beside her, reassuring her that she need not seek protection from anybody but him. Whilst there was breath in his body – and perhaps even beyond such a time – he would not allow harm to befall her again.

"Malcolm, the door, please?" Vanessa directed, turning her gaze from their patriarch very briefly to Ethan, as if she'd understood the symbolism of the steps he'd taken to her side. She smiled at him, her lips twitching upwards still higher as he bent to press a kiss to her temple.

Nodding as he closed the door with a quiet click, Malcolm glanced furtively around the room, almost wringing his hands as he debated his next move.

"Should I close the curtains too? Do we need candles, or… or some sort of incense?"

A good-natured yet slightly impish smile on her features, Vanessa explained, "I thought perhaps the cat might jump up onto the bed."

Ethan laughed out loud and suddenly the tension that had hung in the air was lifted, if only for a second. Feeling foolish and yet also quietly amused at his own enthusiasm, Malcolm took a seat at Vanessa's dressing table whilst he attempted to dull the anxiety growing exponentially in his chest. Although he knew they must face this new test together if peace was ever truly to be theirs, he dreaded meeting the spectre of his beloved daughter, who was so very different in appearance and nature to the young woman he had adored.

Vanessa positioned her hand and the crystal above the map, and allowed her eyelids to flicker closed. She sucked in a breath that she had to admit was more than a little shaky, but Ethan's ever watchful presence beside her served to allay at least some of her nerves. Quietly, she began to recite Mina's name, over and over again as she moved the crystal over the map from top to bottom, then corner to corner. Nothing happened.

Ethan shared a look with Malcolm, who nodded his head before rising to his feet and then slipping from the bedroom without a word. He closed the door behind himself once more, lest Vanessa's new companion indeed decide to make a nuisance of herself.

"I don't… I don't understand…" began Vanessa, shaking her head and then peering up at Ethan, distress crashing across her features. "Scrying is an old art, completely familiar to me. It should have worked, it…"

"You're afraid," Ethan said quietly, and without judgment. Vanessa's mouth closed and she swallowed audibly, her throat quivering with the tense gesture.

"Nobody can blame you for that, Van," he soothed her, suddenly dropping down on one knee by her side and extending a hand, which he placed on her shoulder. His fingertips buried themselves gently into her taut muscles, and the next second Ethan thought that he felt her body relax if only a fraction.

"It's been a while since you've done anything like this, and you've had a Hell of a couple of days, almost literally," continued Ethan, his soft and gentle tones washing over Vanessa and succeeding in evening out her breathing. "But you don't have to be scared, darlin'. The darkness isn't a part of you anymore."

The smile that graced Vanessa's lips was mostly grateful, for not only Ethan's words but also his continued presence. However, it was also loving, and she hoped it succinctly communicated how she longed for the days to pass quickly so that they may be carried over the threshold of marriage sooner rather than later. They were truly made for each other, like the glove is made for the hand or the key for the lock.

Vanessa turned back to the map, the slight tremble no longer present in her hand as she raised the quartz again. It hovered an inch above the browned paper, completely still as Vanessa restarted her whisperings. Mina's handkerchief felt almost heavy in her hand, like her remorse still did in her heart. Finally, the crystal moved just a fraction. Then, it began to turn in clockwise circles.

Seeming pleased by the sudden development, Vanessa moved her tool over the map as she had done before, a spark of satisfaction present in her eyes. However, the crystal showed no signs of dropping point to the page, instead beginning to grow only more frenzied in its rotations until it was spinning so violently that Ethan almost took a step back.

"Is that meant to happen?" he queried, eyes fixed on the pendulum, which made a swishing sound as it cut through the air violently.

"No, I…" Vanessa began, fear beginning to creep ever so slowly back into her voice. She had barely any time to feel anything, however, before the crystal flew out of her hand and sailed across the bedroom. It embedded itself via the point into the wall, cracking the plaster and ruining the paper, although Ethan could hardly bring himself to care when Vanessa suddenly let out a gasp in front of him.

He smelled the blood that began to cascade from her nostrils even before he saw it, and he was scrambling about in the sheets for a means to stem the flow before he truly realised what was happening. Yet Vanessa remained still, hardly seeming to care about the crimson fluid leaking down her lips and chin, creating quite the horrific picture. Instead, her eyes were trained on the map, which had also become stained by her blood.

What drew her eyes, however, was the manner in which the blood seemed to be traveling across the paper; almost as though it was following the lines of the roadways from Grandage Place. Finally, the trail ended, at a location that was as familiar to Vanessa as the bedroom she presently sat within.

"Well I'll be damned," Ethan hissed, his own gaze on the bloody 'x' that had formed on the map.

**x-x-x**

The carriage advanced through the countryside, the rhythmic pounding of the horses' hooves echoing for miles around in the darkness. Dusk had begun to fall, and so not a soul had passed the small party either on horseback or on foot as they made their way far out of London, towards the Murray ancestral home.

Vanessa kept her gaze on the window, where she could see the lush green fields and small market towns that dotted the landscape rolling by. The sights prickled at her memory, reminding her of the countless similar journeys she had made in her youth. It was a curious sensation that overcame her at thoughts of her childhood. The loss and guilt that had consumed her adult mind for so many years almost obscured any traces of joy and happiness that she knew had once existed. One day she hoped to reclaim those memories, to remember kind words and whispered secrets, joyful songs and childish games. But she feared that, after tonight, those remembrances would be tinged with further sadness and regret.

She felt Ethan's arm tighten around her waist, and she turned from her reverie to lay her head against his shoulder. Her hand rested over the top of his and she released a slow, controlled breath as she felt the glow of reassurance she had come to recognise in his presence.

Ethan stole a glance over towards Malcolm. The older man sat rigid in his seat, as if mentally preparing himself for what lay ahead. Likewise, Victor, gripping the brim of his hat between whitening fingertips, also appeared caught up in his own contemplations.

Turning so that his lips ghosted Vanessa's ear, Ethan heard himself almost plead with her. "Whatever happens in there, don't take any chances. You get out of there, Van, you hear me?"

Without a word in response, Vanessa inclined her head in order to offer Ethan a smile. He was far from assuaged by the gesture though, sensing the almost self-sacrificing air that radiated from her body.

"Vanessa…" he warned, his voice morphing almost into a growl; one that hinted at the nature of the beast that slumbered beneath his skin.

"Will behave responsibly," Sir Malcolm interjected, his gaze flashing sharply to Vanessa's face. She had the decency to look somewhat cowed, like a child being scolded, but she did not look away from Malcolm.

"I will do only what is necessary to save the lives of those innocents that have been caught in the crossfire of my own indiscretions," she said, hoping that her words contained enough assurance to sound soothing to her future husband and father figure.

Casting a wary gaze out of the window as the lamplight of familiar houses coloured the view from the carriage, Malcolm sighed resolutely.

"I am confident we are each responsible for our own numerous indiscretions, but not all of us possess your good heart, my dear."

Vanessa's smile in response was fleeting and then she turned back to Ethan, reaching up to place her palm to his cheek as she had done so many times before. This time the restraint and control she had had to exude in such moments wasn't necessary, and the open adoration in her blue eyes made Ethan's heart flutter.

"I shall be careful. I promise, my love," she consoled him, "but I cannot leave your side. We stand together as one. As always."

Thinking back to another moment between them, she added poignantly, "I'm with you, Ethan."

He searched her face for a moment before drawing her closer and pressing his lips urgently to hers, not even caring that Victor and Malcolm sat mere feet away. Drawing back he pressed his face into the curve of her neck and breathed in the heady, intoxicating scent of incense that clung to her skin.

Turning his gaze away diplomatically, Victor cleared his throat as if to direct Malcolm's attention to him. Noting the ring that sparkled from its place on Vanessa's finger, the doctor leaned in closer to pass his remarks in a hushed tone.

"It appears that matters of a romantic persuasion are proceeding at a remarkable rate."

Malcolm followed Victor's pointed gaze to Vanessa's hand, and he smiled silently to himself as he intercepted the affectionate gaze the couple appeared to hold each other in.

"As well it should, Victor. As well it should."

Victor nodded as he pondered the two lovers in question, "Yes, I suppose dragging your beloved from the underworld does rather negate the need for a long courtship."

Malcom just smirked. He had certainly come to realise that there was nobody on earth he could imagine trusting Vanessa's wellbeing to other than their smart-mouthed, gun-toting American friend. For all the guilt Ethan had heaped upon himself, Malcolm had never blamed him for Vanessa's death. If truth be told, they had all left her - all abandoned her to the demons of loneliness - no matter how noble their intentions had been at the time.

Inhaling a slow, deep breath, Malcolm allowed himself to take in the quiet happiness written across Vanessa's face, before the slowing of the carriage suddenly commanded the attention of all its occupants.

Malcolm looked up at the imposing house – a place that had born witness to so many years of joy, sadness, and secrets. It was only Vanessa who perhaps understood the full extent of his pain, and so of course she reached out to him, leaning across the carriage to curl her fingers around his gloved hand.

The look she affixed him with said more than words ever could; _I'm with you too._

**x-x-x**

The carriage had been sent on its way, since the small but fearless party of supernatural hunters were loathed to risk the safety of either man or beast that night. Vanessa had spent a moment with the horses, speaking softly to them as she stroked their fine, black muzzles, whilst Ethan had paid the driver and suggested that he get himself as far away from the house as was possible, and at considerable speed. It was quite evident to all that Mina was spoiling for a fight, and that she intended to claw at her last chance at life until she was sent screaming back to where she had come from. There was already a considerable amount of blood on her hands and Vanessa could not help but attribute at least a sliver of the blame for that to herself, although neither Sir Malcolm nor Ethan would hear as much.

"It is imperative that we do not allow ourselves to be divided," Malcolm stated, eyes sweeping the house that stood in the distance, foreboding and even a little forlorn looking. A single lamp burned in an upstairs window, serving to beckon the four visitors to the front door, where not one of them knew exactly what they would find.

They waited at the bottom of the garden path, behind enormous wrought iron gates that separated the once ornate gardens from the woodland stretching out in front of them. Ethan tipped his head, sniffing the air and momentarily allowing control to his more primal self; he could smell death, all around them, so thick in the atmosphere that he almost choked on it.

Swallowing hard as he watched Malcolm open the gates, Victor gestured towards the expansive property with fear plainly imprinted upon his face.

"Perhaps you'd be so kind as to remind me again why you required my services this evening…"

He startled as he felt a hand rest upon his shoulder, and he turned to find Vanessa smiling at him in gratitude, "Mina's victims will likely require the attention of a doctor… and there is none so qualified in matters of this nature than your good self."

"Alas," Victor allowed. "But there is a plan, yes? We are meddling with creatures of the underworld and I feel it pertinent that we not just go in there, half-cocked, guns blazing…"

"Relax, doc," Ethan chuckled, his hand lingering at his hip, where his holster sat. Both guns were already loaded and primed for action. "We have a plan."

"Oh, we do?" Victor appeared visibly appeased, "excellent! What, might I ask, are the details of this plan?"

Malcolm stepped through the gates with Ethan following in his wake like a shadow. Vanessa watched them intently, her gaze only lingering on the doctor for a moment before she slipped her arm through his and began to lead him on, conscious that they should all remain close.

"You and Malcolm will attend to the hostages whilst Ethan draws out Mina. I shall lift the veil that separates this world from the Other. We will open the portal to the underworld, and her spirit can then be sent back to where it came from."

"With a few choice words in Latin, I assume?" Victor asked, tilting his head slightly as he turned his gaze to Ethan, who offered a wink.

"And are we completely certain that this will work?" the doctor pressed, dropping his voice to a bare whisper as he hurried along at Sir Malcolm's side, anxious to hear the opinion of the more senior member of their party on the matter.

"It has to," Malcolm replied, his gaze never once wavering from the flame flickering in the window. The gravel beneath their feet crunched as they walked the path, side by side, as though they were soldiers marching into battle. In a manner of speaking Victor supposed they were, although that thought brought him no comfort whatsoever.

"If it does not?" Victor insisted, his tone as urgent as Malcolm had ever heard it. The doctor stopped abruptly and the rest of the party followed suit, all turning their gazes to him in almost perfect unison.

"This isn't a suicide mission, Victor," Ethan promised, offering a small and thin smile to the doctor, who seemed hardly assuaged.

"Yes, well, it would not be the first," he stammered, rather diplomatically averting his gaze from Vanessa.

Glaring at the doctor with ill-concealed irritation at his thoughtless words, Ethan stepped back from Malcolm's side and took his place at Vanessa's. His hand searched blindly for hers as he glared at the shorter man, who shrank back and sidled towards Malcolm - whose hand was poised to push open the front door that had been left ajar.

"Nobody is dying tonight, gentlemen," Vanessa stated, as if entirely sure of her prediction. She squeezed her fiancé's hand for a moment then turned to flash him a brilliant smile that momentarily broke the controlled façade she had schooled her features in to.

"Besides…" she lowered her voice so that only Ethan could hear her, "I'm to be married tomorrow."

Nodding in agreement, Ethan bent to press a hasty kiss to her lips. "And don't you forget it, darlin'."

He offered a mischievous grin that she happily received, but within moments the atmosphere around them had changed, and Vanessa felt her sixth sense pricked by something that was not so genial and loving. The presence was not of this world; vengeful, cruel, and waning in power. Whilst others might have considered the latter to be in their favour, Vanessa knew that it would mean Mina's desperation would be increased tenfold, and her anger similarly amplified. Like the stinging hornets during the last vestiges of summer, Mina would be sure to inflict as much pain as possible before giving up on her second chance at life.

For that Vanessa couldn't blame her in the slightest; there was very little she wouldn't do to secure her and Ethan's happiness, now it was so tantalisingly within reach.

**x-x-x**

The instinct to simply seize his friends collectively by the collars then turn tail and run was surprisingly strong in Malcolm. He felt a sharp stab of sadness, guilt, and regret at the realisation that his life had somehow reached the point where he was fearful of a child he had helped give life to. Mina had come into the world quietly and without much aplomb, which Malcolm and his wife had quickly learned was to be her general demeanour as she grew. She was a sweet baby, rosy cheeked, fair haired, and dainty, whereas in contrast Vanessa had been long and slender, with a mass of dark curls, flawless ivory skin, and possessing of a cry that could raise the rafters. But oh how he had loved them both so fiercely, as one could love the night and the day for their respective merits.

Swallowing hard, Malcolm banished all thoughts of his daughter from his mind. He had meant every word he had spoken when he had attested that whatever was to face them imminently was not of his flesh – not his Mina. He wondered if Vanessa would find it more difficult to separate the two entities; the young girl she had considered a sister and a best friend, and the tortured soul that seemed hell bent on ruining her.

The house appeared soulless, as if its walls had never seen the chaos of daily life or echoed with the sound of childish footsteps on the hard wood floors. The furniture was covered by enormous white sheets, and the air smelled stale with just the faint trace of cleaning solutions drifting from the staircase, where the body of the former Mrs. Murray had been discovered. Cobwebs drifted in intricate patterns around the chandelier that hung above their heads in the entrance hall, and as Vanessa glanced up she noted the increasing swing of the crystals with interest.

The sound of a door slamming upstairs resounded through the corridors, and the group peered up at the landing as laughter drifted to their ears also.

" _Vanessa! You can't catch me_!"

Closing her eyes for a moment, Vanessa saw the images of the past whirl by; she watched as the little blonde haired girl raced down the stairs, skipping and giggling as she playfully teased her best friend. The ghostly figure turned and regarded her for a moment before vanishing into thin air. When she finally lifted her gaze to Malcolm, Vanessa saw his features contort into grief. It appeared he too had seen the spectre.

"Onwards, gentlemen," Vanessa directed, her hand surreptitiously reaching into the pocket of her skirt so that her fingers could curl around the rosary in her pocket.

Ethan's hand on her arm was firm and somewhat restraining, and he made with his free hand as though to reach for the gun holstered at his waist. Vanessa shook her head, unable to summon even the faintest of smiles.

"That will do no good here, my love," she chided him, the softness of her gaze indicating that she understood his fear and desire to protect them all nonetheless.

Nodding, although he wore a frown of distaste as he did so, Ethan holstered his weapon. He turned his eyes to Vanessa's face, quickly reading the emotions laid bare there. He ached to offer her some comfort but knew that she would hardly thank him for it now; the moment before war was to be waged, when it was imperative that Vanessa appeared to their foe to be at her strongest. As Ethan looked on, she was able to smooth away the last traces of fear from her own expression with what her fiancé assumed to be practiced ease.

"She is playing hide and seek, as we did when we were children." Vanessa stated, turning to regard Malcolm and Victor, the latter of whom was staring pensively around the hallway as they swept through it.

"The maze," Malcolm suggested grimly, recalling how Vanessa and Mina had loved to play within the confines of the garden, their laughter and squeals drifting from behind the tall walls of the maze. When he had not been off on some adventure or other, he had sometimes joined them. Easily locating them as they scampered about hand in hand. He'd hoist the chuckling girls up – one under each arm – and then they'd escape his grasp only to disappear into the puzzle of topiary once again.

Vanessa nodded, placing her hand onto Ethan's arm as they reached the doors that led out onto the grounds of the house. "We must stay together, do not let her divide us. I shall go with Ethan, you and Victor must find the gentlemen and release them. I fear she has set her sights on us, in any case."

Malcolm glanced between the pair, anxiety constricting his heart as he found himself recalling the last time they had faced such circumstances. It pained him to acknowledge as much, but his reluctance to let Vanessa leave his watchful gaze left him almost rooted to the spot.

Ethan frowned, his own guilt rearing its ugly head. "Malcolm… I'll keep her safe. You have my word."

The slightly fraught expression that passed between the two men caught Vanessa by surprise, and she moved to stand between them at once. The grief that had only just lifted from both of their hearts still somehow lingered, and she felt the atmosphere that Mina's restless spirit had created was acting to amplify all of their emotions.

"Do not let her harness your fears to divide us," she warned, schooling her features she leaned up and pressed a kiss to Malcolm's whiskered cheek. "You know very well that there is nobody on this earth who is more concerned with my wellbeing than Mr. Chandler."

"That I do," Malcolm replied, but his voice came out as a hoarse, husky whisper that trembled horribly. Vanessa squeezed his hand once and then she was walking away from him towards the kitchen and the back door before Malcolm had even truly registered the feel of her cool skin against his.

"Let's not dally, Sir Malcolm," encouraged Victor, clapping the older man on the back in a manner that he supposed was intended to be supportive, "the sooner we find the… hostages… the sooner we can leave this Godforsaken place."

Malcolm peered sharply at the younger man through the darkness, immediately forgiving his lack of tact despite the fact that this had been his first home – the place to which he had brought his new bride, raised his beloved children, and somehow lost it all. He swallowed, hard and deep, the sound seeming to echo throughout the hall. Although he had no use for the property now, he had never gotten round to selling it, perhaps too emotionally tethered to it by the ghosts that roamed his mind rather than the corridors.

**x-x-x**

The walls of the maze were still lush and green, but the last year of neglect had rendered the hedgerows overgrown and wild, instead of the sharp lines and passageways Vanessa recalled.

Halting at the entrance of the puzzle, Vanessa paused, trying to dispel the nerves that fluttered like butterflies in the pit of her stomach.

"Whatever we see in there, it is not real. Whatever spectres… whatever cruelties or lies Mina sends to deter us, we cannot allow them to cloud our judgement."

Ethan nodded resolutely, lifting her hand from his arm, where she held onto him with a vice like grip.

"I know what's real, Van," he assured her. "This. This is real."

He held her hand to his cheek and sought the warmth of her touch. "That's all I care about."

" _Don't let go of my hand_." She hated the pleading tone her voice had adopted but old insecurities were difficult to overcome in such circumstances, and Ethan's dream the previous evening had left her unsettled. Whether it had been a prophetic vision or not, she couldn't help but assume that Mina meant to ruin her happiness in the most poetic manner; perhaps taking her fiancé, just as Vanessa had claimed the handsome captain.

Shaking herself free of old guilt, Vanessa took a step further into the maze and immediately every muscle in her body coiled as though tensing in preparation for a fight. She felt reserves of strength she had not known she possessed rising inside her until her unease was almost completely abated. Taking a breath, Vanessa began to lead Ethan onwards.

The twists and turns of the passages were nowhere near as sharp as they had once been thanks to overgrowth, but Vanessa was able to navigate towards the centre of the maze without too much trouble. Branches tugged at her skirt and the odd leaf nestled into her hair, yet she pressed on resolutely with Ethan's hand married to hers. They both remained silent, Vanessa listening to the steady thrum of her own heartbeat in her ears whilst Ethan strained his already heightened sense of hearing to alert him to anything that might be amiss.

They had been walking for what seemed to Ethan to be quite some time when the first dark shadow fell across the path, and a man he recognised from one of Malcolm's dusty photographs stepped out of the hedge. He walked straight through the foliage as if there was a doorway cut within it that only he could see. Vanessa stopped in her tracks, her hand tugging free from Ethan's fingers and moving to rest over her heart, almost as though she was physically preventing it from leaping out of her chest.

"Peter," she breathed, although her voice was admirably steady in a manner that Ethan thought he would have failed at had he been in Vanessa's shoes. "I should have expected this."

The tall, fair haired man turned to face the couple with a smile stretching his pallid features taught. He reminded Ethan of a ram's skull, given his gaunt and sickly appearance, which he could only assume was a result of whatever ailment had ravaged his body in Africa.

"Can you really blame her, Vanessa?" Peter queried, head cocked as he peered at the woman he addressed, "you took everything from her, and then when there was nothing more to take, you cost her her life."

Vanessa shook her head dismissively, a sudden burst of anger rising up from deep within her. She had spent her entire adult life trying to atone for a youthful indiscretion, and she had more than paid the price for her actions. Her tone was perhaps harsher than she intended when she replied, "If it is my guilt you seek then I shall carry that with me always. If it is my penitence… I have more than atoned for my behaviour."

Peter's glassy eyes narrowed to slits, and he smiled as he regarded the young woman.

"My dear _sister_ …" His emphasis on the word didn't have the desired effect he had hoped for, and Vanessa simply arched a dark eyebrow and deflected his insinuation with indifference. As if stopped in his tracks, Peter glared at her and an unearthly breeze suddenly lashed at the branches and leaves of the foliage around them.

A stray branch grazed the edge of Vanessa's cheek, and she hissed as the thorn drew a thin line across her porcelain skin. Ethan drew her closer, pulling her into his chest and staring down the spectre with mounting rage.

"You think I don't know?" Vanessa challenged, her own anger increasing by the moment as she snarled, "You are mistaken if you believe I am unaware of my true parentage. I have looked upon your father and seen my own gaze reflected back at me. My weaknesses and torments are the very same that have tortured him. I know who and what I am, Peter."

Ethan glanced down at her in surprise and he realised suddenly that it was almost as if he was somehow holding her back - as if all of her pent up anger and frustration from the last few years was about to be unleashed on her latest tormentor.

Peter stared at her intently, his image already beginning to fade. "A bastard child born out of adultery and nurtured in lies… is it any wonder the demon claimed you as his own, _darkling_?!"

Vanessa's lip curled and she murmured a word that was so foreign to Ethan's ears that he had no hope of properly discerning it. Then, tilting her chin upwards, she waved a hand at Peter as though dismissing him. His image blinked from view. The wind that had picked up around them died down just as abruptly, lowering the loose tendrils of Vanessa's dark locks back to her shoulders. She shot a look at Ethan and he saw nothing but resolve in her eyes.

"Let us continue," she said, extending her hand to her fiancé, who merely squared his shoulders before lacing their fingers together once again.

**x-x-x**

Sir Malcolm could almost feel Victor trembling at his side as they climbed the second staircase, which would lead them towards the attic where the sound of gentle humming could be heard. It was a tune that Malcolm recognised immediately, having listened to it spilling freely from the lips of his late wife upon many an evening when she had been attempting to soothe one of their children back to sleep. The voice that carried the tune, however, was not hers. It was somewhat higher and perhaps even sweeter, like early morning bird song carried on a summer breeze. Malcolm had to fight the urge to stop dead in his tracks, tip back his head and close his eyes, then simply lose himself in the music. No good could come from that, he was certain, and so he clenched his teeth, tightened his grip on the stair rail, and hoisted his weary body up the stairs.

Victor did not dare utter a word, struck dumb by his terror, and barely able to force one foot in front of the other. Malcolm had insisted that the hostages would be found somewhere within the house but their search had been fruitless thus far. Since the doctor highly doubted that either of the abducted men were humming a lullaby to while away the hours of their captivity, he could not help but find himself reluctant to venture into the attic from where such sounds emanated.

Squaring his shoulders, Malcolm gripped the door handle with a determinedly steady hand. "Whatever we may behold in there, doctor, it is but a spectre. A cruel vision meant to disarm us. We must prepare ourselves."

Victor swallowed hard. "I've been preparing myself for the last few hours, Sir Malcolm. I'm afraid I've taken to 'preparing' myself each time I receive a summons to attend your town house."

"Probably wise," Malcolm admonished, his jaw setting as he added, "we shall find peace, Victor. This time, we shall put an end to this torment once and for all. There is happiness to be found in the days ahead, and I find myself longing for it above all things.

Victor started as a tapping began to reverberate around the walls of the landing. The quiet knocking travelled across the landing, picking up speed and volume, until a loud pounding rattled the door they stood before.

Pushing it open, Malcolm stepped into the room, his eyes searching for any trace of movement in the attic that had once served as the children's nursery.

"I shall not fear my own child," he growled, wheeling around as the sound of girlish laughter drifted down the hallway outside the door.

"Right. Fine. So… they're not in here, I say we make a rather brisk retreat and find Vanessa and Ethan?!" Victor suggested with feigned enthusiasm.

"Oh do stay," a female voice pierced the silence that had fallen in the aftermath of Victor's speech. This one, however, sounded far more like the Mina that Malcolm remembered, as opposed to the borrowed countenance she had appeared with over the last few days.

For just a second, Malcolm found himself disarmed, against his own advice. He spun back around to face the empty attic, his shoulders hunched to prevent a tell-tale tremble from seizing his body. He could not afford to appear anything other than formidable in the presence of his daughter, who he feared had taken leave of the last of her senses in the unfairness of death.

"We are here, Mina," he spoke into the shadows, waiting for some kind of movement to shatter the stillness. "I am listening to whatever it is you have to say."

Victor swallowed hard from behind Malcolm, his eyes roving the darkness as he struggled to pick out some semblance of a form within the crevices and corners of the lengthy room. Finally, his eyes came to rest upon the rickety looking rocking chair that had been abandoned over by the window at some point in time. Curiously, there was no light burning now in front of the glass, despite the fact they had seen one clearly from the path outside. It had served as a beacon almost, drawing them to the attic room, where untold horrors potentially awaited them.

The figure curled up in the chair barely stirred, and Victor noted that they clutched some sort of bundle of rags in their arms. He could tell from the golden hair spilling in front of their unseen face that the spectre was a woman, and more than likely Mina Murray herself.

" _Golden slumbers kiss your eyes_ …" she whispered, her haunting voice carrying across the room, mingling in the air with the dust particles and Malcolm's palpable grief. "Do you remember, Papa, when Mother would sing to us? Her voice was quite lovely but the songs were lovelier still. I always dreamed that one day I would sing them to my own children."

"Mina…" Malcolm hissed, ignoring the wetness that sprung to the corners of his eyes as he gazed upon the ghost of the girl he had loved and lost. "This is madness, child. I beseech you…"

Mina interjected quickly, her voice still surprisingly light as she inquired, "But Father, don't you wish to see your grandchild?"

"Mina, this isn't you…" Malcolm began, backing away as Mina advanced towards them, her gaze almost loving as she stared down at the bundle in her arms like a new mother admiring her child.

"Oh but it is," Mina corrected him, a deep sadness in her eyes as she regarded her father with contempt. Cocking her head, she halted, as if the need to explain herself had taken precedence.

"You see, Father, when a soul is lost for too long in Purgatory, it becomes fractured. Some become consumed by sadness, some by grief, and then there are others, such as I, who are overwhelmed by their need for vengeance. I felt her there… Vanessa… I felt her presence all around me, how could I not?! We are sisters after all. And for the briefest moment I felt relief. I thought perhaps I could finally allow myself to move on with her beside me, to seek the salvation we are all promised. But she was not destined to stay in that world," Mina began to rock the ghostly child in her arms, reaching down and arranging the blankets around what Malcolm assumed was its face. "She would return to this side of the veil… and live the life I never got to have."

Malcolm shook his head hurriedly, noting how Victor appeared rooted to the spot beside him, his mouth agape as he took in the scene. Beads of perspiration trickled down his forehead, and a wholly grey pallor tainted his complexion.

"This is not Vanessa's doing," Malcolm countered, holding his hand as if to placate her somehow, "she does not deserve to live in… in misery, Mina. Search your heart, my child, find the goodness that I know is within you."

"There was goodness in me," Mina said, almost sounding as though she was lamenting the loss of her better nature. Malcolm felt his heart clench in his chest as he regarded his daughter, who was so irreparably broken that nothing he could say or do would put to rights the great wrongs that the world had wrought upon her.

"There still is, I can feel it," insisted Malcolm in a whisper. His eyelids fluttered closed for barely a moment, and when he opened them again Mina was standing with the child clutched to her chest. She seemed to flicker from view before reappearing in the centre of the room, the blankets and their precious cargo clutched to her chest. Forlorn, she shook her head, her eyes still upon the face of her surviving parent. He had chosen his side, as far as Mina was concerned. She had always suspected that Vanessa was his favourite, far more like him than either Peter or herself, and thus held in the highest esteem, by Malcolm at least.

"There was, once," Mina replied, her black, depthless eyes narrowing to slits. "But I am not that foolish, wide eyed little fool anymore, Papa."

Leaving no time for Malcolm to respond, Mina turned and angled the bundle in her arms towards them, an insidious smile tugging at her lips. From within the swaddling, a dark, swirling mass began to wind its way upwards.

Victor's eyes widened in horror, and he stepped backwards as the entity launched itself at the pair, knocking both men clear off their feet with the strength of its assault.

Feeling powerless to resist, as if suddenly paralysed in fear, both men lay rigid on the ground, struggling to free themselves from the clutches of the vengeful spirit. Mina's apparition watched for only a moment before blinking from view, and only her chilling laughter remained as the two men were dragged to their feet. Finally they were flung towards the wall with enough force to knock out large chunks of plaster.

**x-x-x**

"Vanessa… darling… come to me…"

The voice of her mother weaving its way through the maze was not a wholly surprising development but most certainly an unwelcome one. Vanessa carried on walking, fingers gripping Ethan's sleeve hard, and her back rigid as she proceeded. She tried her very best to act as though she could not hear the spirit's taunting but the way she worried her bottom lip with her teeth gave her away.

"Van?" queried Ethan when the woman's voice called out to them again, sounding somehow closer than before. Having never met the late Mrs. Ives, Ethan could not hope to recognise her by sound or sight, yet he could tell from the almost frenzied look that Vanessa was working hard to conceal from him that whoever Mina had conjured to torment her had been an inspired choice indeed.

"Keep moving," Vanessa instructed, tone clipped, "do not slow down. Do not…"

"Darling, how I have missed you," Mrs. Ives murmured as she stepped in front of the couple, her seemingly warm gaze sweeping them both as though she took great pleasure in simply looking upon them.

"You are not real," insisted Vanessa. However, the previously strong foundations of her tone wavered dangerously, and so acting on instinct alone Ethan positioned his body in front of hers.

Claire Ives planted her hand on her hip and turned to face Ethan, an appraising smile on her face as her blue eyes surveyed him intently.

"Ah, my future son in-law, I assume?" Noting how Ethan moved to shelter Vanessa against his chest, Claire laughed in evident amusement. "Really now! As if I would harm my own child! I might be dead but I can assure you I am no monster, Mr. Chandler… unlike you, of course."

"You are not my mother," Vanessa repeated, closing her eyes and beginning to chant under her breath in a hurried whisper of spells and prayers to the Almighty. Whilst she would never again utter the Verbis Diablo, that did not mean that she wouldn't utilise other aspects of the Craft when necessary.

The flickering spectre of her mother appeared to grow angry at the unwelcome interference, but the magic that had conjured the ghostly entity was not strong enough to counter Vanessa's magic.

"You can banish me from sight, child, but you know I only speak the truth, so mark me, daughter… you will never know happiness in this life. Not the kind that you dream of. The demon coveted you from the moment you first drew breath, and nothing but darkness can come from you."

Ethan blinked as Claire Ives' ghost disappeared from view, but almost immediately she reappeared at Vanessa's side, her hideously pale and decaying hand reaching out to rest against her daughter's abdomen.

"You were chosen to bring forth darkness and death, no light can grow in your womb, Vanessa. The demon crawled and twisted within you, ebbing through your veins and poisoning everything it touched."

Ethan watched in horror as the woman's face began to decay further before them, her skin falling away in chunks to reveal bone and sinew. She grinned at him with bloody tears descending her cheeks.

Lifting her hand from her pocket, Vanessa pulled out the rosary weaved around her fingers and grasped her mother's hand with her own. The crucifix pressed against the entity's skin and immediately she released a pained scream. She recoiled from Vanessa's grip and shrank backwards, glancing down at her hand where the shape of a cross was burnt into the grey flesh.

"End this… sister," Vanessa snarled, making sure the creature knew that she was aware of its true identity.

"I will," the spectre, suddenly in the form of Mina again, hissed into Vanessa's face. She jerked her head towards Ethan and declared loftily, "Over his dead body."

Her laughter faded along with her and Vanessa found herself grasping the rosary as though it was her lifeline to the shore. She shot a look at Ethan, who was staring at her like he was appraising her ability to continue with their quest. Eager to assure him of her strength, and of her resolve to put an end to Mina's scheming once and for all, Vanessa flashed him the thinnest of smiles. It was certainly not the sort that made her blue eyes twinkle in the manner in which Ethan adored, but it was enough.

"She shall not have you," Vanessa insisted firmly, leaning closer to Ethan and then rising on her toes in order to brush her lips against his. When she pulled away from him, her demeanour was steely, and she added, "She shall not have either of us."


	7. Then I knew, in the crystalline knowledge of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it, the end! Thank you to everyone who has read and followed this fic. We hope you've enjoyed it, and we hope you find this ending more fitting for Vanessa & Ethan. 
> 
> We do have a sequel planned - it might involve Jack the Ripper, but we couldn't possibly comment ;) - but before that, we'll be writing a Penny Dreadful/The Originals crossover. We know what you're thinking, but stay with us, we felt compelled to fix the awful final seasons (and fates) of our two favourite shows and then inspiration struck for a crossover.
> 
> Thanks again, we hope you like the final chapter! 
> 
> *Lyrics belong to Stevie Nicks.

_'Do you always trust your first, initial feelings?_

_Special knowledge holds truth, bears believing._

_I turned around, and the water was closing all around, like a glove._

_Like the love, that had finally, finally found me._

_Then I knew, in the crystalline knowledge of you.'_

 

 

A whispered plea tumbled from Victor’s lips as he again found his body rising into mid-air, carried on the wisps of black smoke that rushed and snaked around the attic. He barely had time to incline his head to the side, allowing him a glimpse of Malcolm where he lay sprawled on his back, stunned and half conscious. Blood ebbed from the corner of his mouth, indicating that he had bitten down on his own tongue time after time whilst enduring the assault of the spirit.

Victor opened his mouth, poised to call out to his friend, but the barest groan escaped him instead. Then he was sailing across the old nursery once more, his arms swiping the air in a manner that the thing found somewhat comical if the rumbling laughter shaking the walls was anything to go by.

“Please… enough…” Malcolm rasped, managing to roll onto his stomach and push himself up on his elbows. He spat a mouthful of blood onto the floorboards and then watched in alarm as the pool of crimson formed a dozen tiny spiders, which scuttled towards his fingertips with their visible fangs gnashing.

Malcolm found his voice with renewed vigour, letting out a yell of alarm as the arachnids attempted to swarm him.

Casting a fleeting look to where Victim lay crumpled on the ground, Malcolm struggled to climb to his feet, sliding his body up against the wall. The ground beneath him began to shake as if the entire building was in the clutches of a powerful earthquake.

Mina cocked her head as she regarded her father, her arms perfectly straight at her sides whilst she stared at him intently. A tiny, amused smile tugged at her ashen lips, and she appeared to take great delight in the gasp of horror that her father released when her feet left the floor. She levitated a foot above the wooden boards by the time her ascent was finished.

Slowly but surely Mina began to drift towards him. Every bureau, wardrobe, and dresser that lay abandoned in the attic beginning to tremble as she passed. Drawers were forcibly expelled, landing on the floor with a clatter, and it was only when she had flown towards Malcolm’s terrified figure that she stopped in her tracks.

“Mina…” Malcolm began, his hands up towards his face defensively. He watched her through wide eyes, noting how her head turned at an unnatural angle as she stared towards the window of the attic. Her features contorting into rage, she disappeared from view, leaving Malcolm to gather his wits and rush over to check that Victor was unharmed.

Feeling a strong pulse beneath his friend’s wrist, Malcolm got to his feet and stared out of the stained glass window that looked over the grounds.

“They’ve reached the centre of the maze.”

Realisation struck him, and with renewed purpose he hurried from the attic, hoping to defend his only living child against the wrath of her dead sibling.

 

**x-x-x**

It was eerily silent as they drew closer to their final destination, but the air felt charged nonetheless. Electricity may have been sparking all around them as far as the tiny hairs on the nape of Vanessa’s neck were concerned. They rose to stand erect against her pale skin, and a rash of goose-bumps broke out across every inch of her. She did not shudder though, since Ethan matched her pace so close by her side that their shoulders were touching. His presence offered her a sense of safety that no amount of weapons or spells or archaic supernatural artefacts could, and so she managed to keep her fear to a bearable minimum. She swallowed it down with a gulp of air, resolved not to let the vengeful spirit see even a shred of her unease.

They rounded the corner of the final hedgerow in perfect synchronicity, and immediately Ethan seemed somehow more alert; his gaze narrowed and focussed on the bonfire set in the centre of the maze, and his whole body grew more rigid. A growl broke free from between his lips and the sound was so base that it was difficult for Vanessa to tell if it had emerged from her fiancé or the wolf itself. Perhaps it was even both, united for once in a single purpose – to bring salvation to the woman they loved. After all, the beast had been the one to truly venture into Purgatory to retrieve Vanessa’s soul, and he had done so with the utmost of restraint and control, (the likes of which nobody had ever thought possible).

Vanessa halted, her hand squeezing Ethan’s tight as she brought him to a pause. Closing her eyes, she felt a ripple of anxiety bloom from the pit of her stomach, causing a shiver to roll over her body. It was a sensation that she had come to associate with only the very darkest of entities.

Mina was near, and their evening was about to be brought to a conclusion, one way or another.

It took a few deep breaths to regain her composure, but when Vanessa finally lifted her gaze to Ethan’s, a vestige of fear remained behind her blue orbs; not of the vengeful spirit they must face, but of what she may have to do to vanquish it. There had always been an uncertainty over her powers that had haunted Vanessa - the fear of losing control, or becoming consumed by the darkness she knew was within her. And now, reborn, she was unsure of just how renewed and untarnished her soul was.

“Vanessa?” Ethan jarred her hand gently, noting the faraway look in her eyes. The spooked expression on her face was sadly too familiar to him, and he gathered up their joined hands to kiss hers before holding them firmly against his chest. “We’re in this together. You’re in control now, Van… the demon has gone. It’s just you and me.”

There was barely time for Vanessa to respond before the flames of the bonfire shot skyward, growing exponentially in height and width. Miraculously, the hedgerows did not ignite, despite the proximity of the fire, which seemed to be moving with purpose towards the couple.

Swallowing hard, Vanessa peered through the flame to the other side of the maze, tensing when she saw the cruel, keen gaze of her former friend returned to her.

“I suppose it is far too late to attempt to reason with you,” Vanessa stated rather than inquired, her voice steady despite her nerves. Ethan seemed to draw himself up to his full height at her side, ready for confrontation whenever it should arise. There was little doubt in either of their minds that it would.

Mina tossed her head, the flames illuminating her pale features and casting even darker shadows in the hollows beneath her eyes.

“You know the only way this will end tonight, Vanessa,” Mina said, confidence resonant in her voice, “one soul bound for the Heavens, one for Hell, and one destined to walk between the worlds for all eternity.”

Vanessa had hardly blinked when Mina was before her, her smile both amused and evidently sinister as she cast a fleeting glance at Ethan. Vanessa didn’t flinch, staring at her with a mask of composure that concealed the panic she felt rising up against her courage.

“And this one is my most prized sacrifice… this soul shall secure my freedom,” Mina stated, tilting her head and answering Ethan’s mumbled profanities with no more than a smirk.

Vanessa stepped forward, blocking the spectre’s gaze as she snarled in warning, “I will not allow you to take him. Do not test me, sister.”

Quickly slipping her hand from her pocket, Vanessa tossed a handful of an unknown substance into the creature’s face, smiling to herself as its skin bubbled and rippled. Mina reared back with a shriek.

“What a clever little witch,” Mina narrowed her blackened eyes, “but I’m afraid no manner of parlour tricks will save your beloved, Vanessa. His soul is mine… and I shall be free. Home, where I belong.”

“Sorry to disappoint, ma’am,” Ethan drawled, his mouth curling into a nasty smile as he spoke, “but you’re gonna have to find yourself some other poor, hell-bound sap. I’m not much in the mood for ritual sacrifice today.”

Mina laughed; a high pitched sound that resonated around the maze, despite the crackle of flames. She peered at Ethan in a curiously appraising manner that raised the wolf’s hackles.

“Strange,” Mina said finally, backing away from Vanessa and beginning to walk at an almost leisurely pace around her bonfire, “that you should assume that it is your soul destined for such torment.”

“Well considering you kidnapped our priest… I’ll be needing him back, by the way… I think it’s pretty safe to assume,” Ethan countered gruffly. Vanessa could detect the undertone of sorrow and regret colouring his voice; he truly believed that it would be he who would pay for the wolf’s sins – although it was an affliction that he could never be held accountable for in her own eyes.

Mina furrowed her brow and she levelled a look at Ethan that bordered on being perplexed. For just a moment, the flames abated and died down to a tamer level.

“You truly believe so, don’t you?” she queried, appearing almost baffled by the suggestion. “I assume that you are not a God fearing man, Mr. Chandler. If it were so, then you would never dare to speculate that he would forsake a soul as important as yours in such a way… ‘wolf of God’.”

Ethan managed to successfully rein in his expression of surprise, and he arched an eyebrow in the spectre’s direction. “Darlin’, wherever my sorry soul is headed, you ain’t getting it.”

Mina giggled, turning her head and staring off wistfully towards the centre of the maze laid out before them. The remains of the small summer house they had played in as children was now a dilapidated pile of decaying wood - a mournful relic from a childhood that had slowly been eaten away by adult indiscretions.

“Now, now, Mr. Chandler… I don’t recall ever asking for your permission…” Mina chuckled, a girlish, haunting sound that made his blood run cold. Lifting her hand and gesturing to the darkened clearing, a dozen or so torches erupted into flames and illuminated the terrifying sight before them. Two men – one Ethan recognised as Father Fitzgerald – lay spread eagle on the ground, wooden posts hammered into the earth by each hand and foot, where a rope kept them bound and helpless. They tried desperately to shout, but the gags on their mouths stifled any cries. Mina appeared pleased with her progress, her gaze resting on the final vacant plot where she required her third and last sacrifice.

“I…” she began, frowning as she suddenly felt a tug at the body she inhabited, as if she were being somehow unsettled from the corpse. Shaking her head in confusion, she lifted her hand and gasped at the sight of decomposition that had begun. The tell-tale marks of rigor mortis had begun to settle in, and the natural decay that had been halted by her possession seemed to be beginning again.

Vanessa paused, sensing movement behind her, and she stilled, having already surreptitiously managed to begin the spell that would open the portal to the demimonde. Dragging her hand from her coat pocket, she dropped the handful of cemetery soil onto the ground where it fell against the black salt, cocooned in the handkerchief that bore Mina’s initials.

“You can’t beat me, Vanessa,” Mina said with a scowl, her eyes clouding over with an inky blackness that set Ethan shuddering.

A peculiar kind of smile settled across Vanessa’s lips, and in the blink of an eye she had raised her left hand then fluttered her fingers ever so slightly. The gesture seemed to have an effect on Mina, whose borrowed body stood rigid, arms pressed down to her side.

“I have learned a few things since we last met,” revealed Vanessa, resisting the urge to spin around to meet the flurry of movement she heard over her shoulder.

“Vanessa…” Sir Malcolm breathed, rushing to her side. He seemed to be favouring his left leg and one arm was snaked around his own abdomen, almost hunching him over. She barely shot him a glance, her attention focussed upon Mina, where it was most needed. However, the few seconds that she allowed her eyes to rove his face were enough to take in his battered and bruised appearance, and she felt her heart wrench. It could be no easy torture to bear that occurred at the hands of one’s own child.

“Malcolm…” Vanessa said gravely, passing him a silver dagger that he retrieved from her with a trembling hand. Nodding his head in understanding – and recalling the details of the plan they had laid out – Malcolm gritted his teeth as he swiped a thin incision down his palm. Squeezing his hand closed to encourage blood to flow from the wound, he held it over the circle Vanessa had begun on the ground. A few drops of blood fell onto the pristine white of the handkerchief, and almost immediately Mina let out a shriek of rage, feeling the hold on her grow stronger with the addition of her father’s blood; her blood.

“And where is the good doctor?” Vanessa demanded, watching as Ethan hurriedly retrieved a worn, leather bound bible from his pocket, along with a silver medal that she recognised from a similar scene only a year or so before.

“Indisposed, I’m afraid,” Malcolm stated, reaching into his pocket and wrapping a clean handkerchief around the wound on his palm.

Advancing towards the snarling girl, who was bound by Vanessa’s magic, Ethan checked cautiously, “How long will this hold her?”

“Not long,” Vanessa gravely replied. She dropped to her knees and accepted the lighter her fiancé passed her. She watched with satisfaction as she flicked the lid open to conjure a tall, flickering flame, then she dropped the lighter onto the ground to begin the final part of the ritual; lifting the veil to the demimonde.

“Malcolm, the hostages,” Ethan reminded him, gesturing to the two men, who were still struggling against the apparent hopelessness of their situation. Despite the severity of the moment, Ethan found his mind wandering to what Mina had said; that it was not his soul that was in fact bound for Hell or even Purgatory. It was not something he could easily reconcile with his own conscience, knowing all the misdeeds and wrongdoings he could be held accountable for in his life. Especially given that one of the men before him was a Father – a man of God who could not possibly have angered the Lord in such a way that he would be forsaken.

Malcolm wasted no time in skirting around the fire and torches in order to reach the two men, both of whom were crying tears of what Ethan assumed to be relief.

“No!” Mina howled, sounding like a wounded animal caught in a trap, which Vanessa supposed was perhaps the very best description for what she actually was.

“Be still, Mina,” Vanessa said quietly and in an almost soothing tone, “do not make this harder than it already will prove to be.”

“You bitch… _you whore_ …” Mina railed, her hands contracting into fists. She dug her nails so tightly into the flesh of her own palms that blood began to trickle down her wrists, although she paid no mind to it whatsoever. Her attention was far more focussed upon Vanessa, who she was regarding with a murderous kind of fury.

Mina watched enraged as Vanessa closed her eyes, her lips moving in an unintelligible tangle of words in both Latin and English. Raising her hands over the flames before her, her chanting grew louder, her back now upright as she knelt over the fire, her head thrown back.

The ground began to quake beneath them, and Mina’s eyes – now white and almost opaque with decay – darted furtively around the clearing. The flames of the torches grew in height and began to flicker as Vanessa repeated her chant.

“I will claim him… You cannot stop me, Vanessa!” Mina shrieked, struggling against the invisible ties that bound her as she watched Malcolm and Ethan remove the hostages from the circle then usher them towards the exit of the maze.

Mina unleashed a blood curdling scream. Vanessa, her eyes flashing open towards the heavens, repeated her words louder and louder against the howl of the wind that encircled them.

“You may banish me now, Vanessa, but I will come for you… in the moment of your death it is my face you shall see. There shall be no peace for you, no eternity with your loved ones… You do not belong here, you are an imposter to this world!”

Satisfied that the two men had fled and were on their way to the house, Ethan stalked over towards Mina with Malcolm dropping into step at his side. Ethan swatted at the air as leaves and debris began to swirl violently around them, the earth beneath his boots rumbling as a consequence of Vanessa’s connection to the other side.

“May I ask how is it you know the service of exorcism, Mr. Chandler?” Malcolm queried, taking the bible from Ethan with trembling hands that betrayed the fear coursing through his veins.

“That’s a long story for another time, Sir Malcolm,” Ethan drawled, clasping the St. Jude medal in his hand, the chain wound around his wrist to lock it within his grasp.

Mina’s head whipped up and she affixed a ferocious look upon her face, which seemed to be growing more pallid in the flames as Vanessa’s chanting wore on.

“No…” Mina hissed, and with a cry that resembled that of a banshee, she managed to tear free one arm from her magical bindings. That was all she required, however, and she flung her palm outwards with force. Malcolm and Ethan were sent hurtling across the maze in an instant. Both men sailed through the air before they connected with the tall hedgerows, scattering nesting birds into flight and breaking branches with their weight.

Vanessa’s heart stuttered in alarm but she continued to shout her spell to the ether, her hands raised above her head and her fingers crooked like claws.

“Fuck you,” spat Mina, managing finally to raise her other arm above her head with a look of immense triumph that only served to pique Vanessa’s anger.

Her eyes narrowed, Vanessa took a step towards Mina, her hand outstretched and her features contorted into a determined rage. Her fingers curled as if grasping at the spectre’s neck, and almost in an instant she had Mina held in a supernatural grip that the spirit struggled against.

The exertion of holding the entity captive quickly began to sap Vanessa’s energy, and she stumbled forward, waning and wilting.

“Ethan!” she ground out, her jaw set as she watched her accomplices pick themselves up and run towards Mina. Grasping the religious medal in his hand, Ethan passed Malcolm the bible, which he opened with haste. The American retrieved a second lighter from his pocket, and then he passed the medal through the handheld flame.

“Whatever you do, don’t stop reading!” Ethan instructed urgently, watching for a moment as Malcolm nodded his head and began to trace his fingertip over the words he would use to free his daughter’s vengeful soul from its captive body.

“ _Father_ …” Mina cried, trying her best to attempt to tear Malcolm’s watery gaze away from the pages of the tome that was the only hope of thwarting her plans.

“Keep reading,” called back Ethan, taking a few steps towards Mina, who was almost free of Vanessa’s mentally imposed bindings. Shooting a quick glance at his fiancé, Ethan could see her face draining of colour and her eyelids beginning to flicker as the consistent use of her magic sapped her energy. He willed her to carry on for just a while longer whilst he drew nearer to Mina with the chain of the red hot pendant held carefully between his thumb and forefinger.

“Papa, please!” screeched Mina, sobs bubbling up from her throat. “Papa…do not let them send me away!”

Malcolm ceased chanting only long enough to whisper a single sentence under his breath.

“ _I am so very sorry_.”

Then he was speaking again, in a surprisingly unbroken voice that radiated resolve and indicated great strength. Shocked but simultaneously pleased that Malcolm had managed to rally against the spirit, Ethan set his mouth in a grim line and struck out with the necklace at the closest patch of bare skin he could access.

An ear piercing and wholly inhuman scream spilled from Mina’s lips as the metal seared the flesh of her cheek, which glowed red and bubbled as though she were a wax mannequin poised to melt.

Joining Malcolm in reciting the ancient Latin text that he’d committed to memory years before, Ethan stood his ground against the flailing, screaming corpse that Mina’s spirit controlled.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Vanessa toss the cotton handkerchief into the flames that had begun to rise and crackle from the spot she had cast her binding spell. It caught light immediately, burning almost with urgency and disappearing into ash as if held up by an invisible hand. Slowly but surely, a bright light began to bloom from within the flames, and Ethan blinked against it as he watched how Mina’s eyes darted to the fire.

With a few final words uttered under her breath, Vanessa stalked forwards and pressed her hand to Mina’s chest, containing her revulsion for the cold, mottled skin beneath her fingertips.

“ _Goodbye, sister_ ,” Vanessa whispered, and then she was pushing hard on the corpse, who displayed nothing but outrage at the fate befalling her.

Mina’s arms wind-milled but not a single blow seemed to connect with Vanessa, almost as though she were subject to divine protection. Vanessa took a step back, and called out to Ethan and the man she had learned to be her father in every true sense of the word.

“Now!”

With the spirit locked inside the body of the child, there was nowhere that Mina could hope to flee. She wailed and cried with renewed vigour, but Malcolm and Ethan persisted with the exorcism, knowing that all of their lives absolutely depended on it. Their voices rose to a fever pitch along with the roar of the fire and, with flames kissing the sky, Mina’s host dropped to knees that were beginning to lock with rigor mortis.

Her mouth opened in a final, echoing scream, and then a grey mist was pouring forth from every crevice of her body; ears, nostrils, eyes and mouth, weaving up into the sky where it began to swirl like a mini tornado into a funnel shape.

The corpse, for that’s what it was once more, fell. Folding like a card house subjected to a gust of wind, the body that Mina had inhabited simply crumpled to the ground. Then, it was over.

Vanessa felt herself sag, legs failing her at last as the magic she had weaved and her anxiety began to take a physical toll on her body. Malcolm was at her side before Ethan could manage to be, for once. He hoisted her up with an arm locked around her waist, supporting her weight as though she was nothing.

“Thank you,” she managed to gasp out, her eyes still fixed on the shell of a child. It was several seconds before she realised that she was crying; for the little girl, for Mina, for Malcolm, for them all. She tasted salt water on her tongue, which poked out of the corner of her mouth, licking her cracked lips in an attempt to moisten them.

“I am quite alright,” Vanessa assured Malcolm, managing to straighten herself up, although she did not dare remove his arm from about her. Another unceremonious descent to the floor was not what she had in mind for the remainder of the evening.

Her brow creased at the sound of footsteps approaching, and Vanessa turned her gaze to the overgrown entrance of the maze. As the figure approached with heavy, almost staggering footsteps, Ethan appeared at her side, gun drawn and pointed in the direction of the disturbance.

All three seemed to hold their breath, a collective sigh of relief drifting up into the night air as Victor emerged from the foliage, one hand pressed to the side of his head here an angry red mark was clearly visible.

Ethan withdrew the pistol in his hand, sliding it back into the holster at his hip and casting a careful eye on the corpse at their feet; he’d been duped by the dead too many times before, after all.

“I heard screaming… I…” Victor began, scanning the scene that presented itself to him with abject horror and yet quite obvious relief. “You are all unharmed. That is a relief, indeed. I have instructed the two gentlemen you freed to wait for us at the gates of the house. I suspect they are as eager to leave this God forsaken place as I.”

Malcolm forced his gaze from malingering any longer on the body of the unfortunate girl and, as his thoughts drifted to the daughter he had lost, he found his arm tightening around Vanessa’s waist. Mina was gone, her soul perhaps lost to him and heaven forever – but he would cherish every moment with the child he had been reunited with in this life.

“Let us go home.”

 

**x-x-x**

It was the following Saturday before Ethan and Vanessa were finally able to wed. They spent the entire lead up to their nuptials almost holding their breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak.

It was no great surprise to either of the couple when the Father elected to withdraw as officiate of the ceremony. The realisation as a man of the cloth that he was in fact not necessarily heading to God’s kingdom in death was a heavy blow to be dealt, and thus he elected to take a brief sabbatical from his duties in the interest of some heavy soul searching. The replacement priest filled the post five days later, and so Vanessa and Ethan found themselves quite hurried to organise the finer details of their marriage with the man. He had been rather insistent upon getting to know the happy couple before agreeing to preside over proceedings, indicating he was not quite such an affable man as the outgoing Father had been.

Perhaps the most nervous of them all was Sir Malcolm, who was having great trouble sleeping, eating, or doing much else in favour of hovering over Vanessa. She found his concern both endearing and quite charming, yet she worried for his health when the dark circles beneath his eyes became more pronounced. Eventually he fell asleep at the breakfast table over his teacup and Vanessa was ruthless in ordering him to bed, despite his protests. To assuage him, she promised to sit a while in the hallway outside his door as he slumbered, just so that he could be assured of her proximity and thus her safety. He had become almost overbearing in his crusade to ensure that Vanessa managed to walk down the aisle, almost as though he believed that as soon as the name ‘Chandler’ was hers she would be automatically safe from the forces of darkness. Vanessa supposed that so long as there was breath left in Ethan’s body, she would be.

The wedding had been small and intimate, attended only by the group of friends who shared a bond much more akin to family.

Walked down the aisle on Malcolm’s arm, and clad in the white gown he had insisted upon seeing her wed in, Vanessa had smiled more than perhaps any of those around her had ever witnessed before. Her general demeanour had become lighter and softer, somehow, as if the darkness that had haunted her had been lifted and all that remained in her eyes was a spark of hope.

A sigh of relief seemed to pass between the congregation of three as the ring had been placed on Vanessa’s finger, and the ceremony had been brought to a close. Each one of them had chosen to pointedly ignore the slight trembling of the ground beneath their feet and the gentle flicker of the candles as the priest had declared them man and wife. Perhaps a final fit of rage from the beast that had sought to claim her as his own.

After a large and arguably splendid meal at Grandage Place, the group sat together in a companionable silence to watch the dying embers of the fire in the hearth. For once, contentment was settling over them, and it was a feeling they believed they all could grow accustomed to.

Loosening the characteristically ostentatious cravat around his neck, Sir Lyle cast a sly glance at the newlyweds. Vanessa nestled against her husband’s side, her head against his shoulder and her eyes crinkled with mirth as he whispered into her ear. Lyle chuckled to himself, his smile growing more mischievous as he watched them from afar.

“You know, Mr. Chandler, it’s hardly fashionable to be so enamoured of one’s own wife.” His teasing was punctuated with a brief peel of laughter.

“Then I do openly and willingly declare myself as the most unfashionable husband in the whole of England,” Ethan retorted playfully, pausing to brush an ever so chaste kiss to Vanessa’s lips. Her cheeks pinked and she ducked her head just a little, avoiding the knowing smiles directed at them by their friends.

“Just England, old chap?” teased Victor, who had grown a little wobbly on his feet thanks to the amount of wine he had consumed from Sir Malcolm’s private reserve.

“I figure I’ll set my sights small at first,” was Ethan’s fast and easy retort, which seemed to be lost on Victor as he drifted back over to the tray of accompaniments that the cook had prepared in order to soak up some of the vast amount of wine and champagne being consumed.

“Grandage Place will be filled with the pitter patter of tiny paws in no time at all,” Mr. Lyle said, a wicked chuckle escaping him when he received such a dark look from Ethan that even Sir Malcolm was forced to bite back a smile.

Finally unable to hide a smile any longer, Ethan rolled his eyes at the older man, whose rosy cheeks rounded into a merry grin once again.

“You know I merely jest, Ethan,” Lyle stated, sweeping his gaze over the couple as he leant back in his seat to rest his hands over his rounded stomach. “It did this old fool’s heart the world of good to bear witness to your happy event today. I do hope that I shall get to share many more with you both.”

Vanessa inhaled slowly, finding it a wholly curious sensation not to have her stomach flutter with nerves, or her heart pound rapidly beneath her breast. She felt so at peace that it was a foreign state to find herself in; but one she hoped very much would last for the rest of her days.

“Have you given any thought to my offer of a honeymoon?” Malcolm prodded, having been silent all this time and content purely to soak in the warm, inviting ambience of the room. “Paris is quite lovely this time of year, or Sir Lyle has a country house in Scotland he has offered you use of.”

Lyle nodded his head in vigorous agreement, quickly swallowing a sip of champagne. “Oh, indeed! Say the word and it is yours for the month, my dear. Of course, it does get rather chilly in that region this time of year, but I’m sure keeping warm won’t be a problem for newlyweds.”

Vanessa laughed indulgently, feeling her cheeks blush again as she tried to deflect Mr. Lyle’s insinuation with a demure cough.

“We hadn’t quite thought that far ahead,” she began, looking up and holding Ethan’s gaze until the flash of desire in his eyes caused a flutter of longing in the pit of her stomach. “But… perhaps a few weeks out of London might prove… rejuvenating.”

She hid a grin at the wink Ethan discretely levelled at her, before turning her attention back towards their friends. Her hand remained clasped tightly in Ethan’s though, and a thrill of happiness shot through her when she felt his thumb rub up and down the gold wedding band that adorned her finger.

Victor, shaking off the vestiges of tiredness and, getting his second wind, added helpfully, “There’s some rather excellent fishing spots North of the border, as they say. Trout, salmon, perch, grayling, pollock, wrasse… all manner of fish, actually…”

The four friends hid their amusement behind hands or wine glasses, but Vanessa accepted his recommendation with a kindly smile of thanks.

“I’m not entirely certain that our interests run to fresh water fishing, doctor, but I’m sure the countryside is quite beautiful and lends itself to some fine walks.”

Pleased that his advice had been well received, Victor nodded and took a large bite out of a slice of cake, for once appearing entirely at ease amongst the group he had come to nervously associate with trouble – generally of the supernatural persuasion.

“ _I guess, although we should probably keep a look out for stinging nettles_ ,” Ethan quipped, his voice low enough so that only Vanessa could hear. Appearing momentarily scandalised, Vanessa giggled but directed a gentle slap against his chest.

“Hey, you married an uncouth colonial, darlin’…” he retorted, tightening the arm around her waist and drawing her closer to award her temple with an affectionate kiss.

“Indeed I did,” she agreed, staring up at her husband with unchecked adoration.

“I hazard that our new Mrs. Chandler would not have it any other way,” Sir Malcolm stated with such confidence that Ethan could not help the grateful look he shot the man.

“I would not,” conceded Vanessa with a curt nod of her head. She squeezed Ethan’s fingers, every inch of her warmed when he reciprocated the gesture, tempering his superior wolf strength so as not to crush her hand.

“Shall we raise a glass?” Victor suggested, doing exactly that even before agreement could be voiced. However, thanks to his state of partial inebriation, he lifted his wine glass far too high and sloshed a generous amount of Merlot onto the pristine white shirt he wore.

“Oh blast!” he cursed out at the same moment that Mr. Lyle leapt to his feet, entirely aghast at the idea of such a fine, expensive garment (which was on loan from Malcolm’s wardrobe) being subjected to such treatment.

“We must soak the stain at once!” he exclaimed, jumping into action with surprising speed for a man of his age and shape.

Malcolm threw his head back and laughed indulgently, listening to the tutting noises Sir Lyle made as he retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket to begin dabbing at the offending stain with an expression of sheer horror.

Victor found himself bustled from the room, and Malcolm shot the young couple a tentative glance as he too climbed to his feet.

“Well, then. I think perhaps today’s exertions have worn me out. I shall retire for the evening, content to know that all has… _for once_ … ended most happily.”

Ethan and Vanessa stood up almost immediately, the latter quickly walking in to the embrace Sir Malcolm offered. Wrapping Vanessa in his arms, he held her close, loathed to let his mind wander back upon the months she had been absent from their lives.

“Thank you for everything,” Vanessa said quietly, referencing not only the wedding Malcolm had insisted on paying for, but for the renewed bond the pair had forged. Though tragedy and pain had thrown them together again, the past couple of years had allowed them the chance to renew the love that had always existed between them throughout her childhood. And for that, they could both at least be thankful.

Malcolm shook his head somewhat ruefully, reaching up to brush his fingertips against the white flowers that were pinned into the back of Vanessa’s dark curls.

“I regret that I have never been the man I ought to have been. But I do not regret my weaknesses… for they gave me you. It is of course my punishment that they made us little more than strangers.” Glancing towards the door, where they could hear voices emanating from the scullery, he added regretfully, “I will never be able to claim you as my child, Vanessa, but I hope I can continue to love you… as my daughter.”

Vanessa remained silent, pressing her cheek to his chest in reply and tightening her arms around his waist.

Consenting to smile, Malcolm drew back, sweeping an analytical eye over the woman who in little more than a week had grown more vivacious than he could ever recall from her youth.

“Happiness looks well upon you, Vanessa. I think this old house could stand to see more laughter and joy.”

Looking up at him impishly, Vanessa offered with a shrug, “And perhaps a little redecorating?”

Laughing at her expression, which he recalled all too well from her childhood, he assuaged her with an indulgent nod. Narrowing his eyes, he paused suddenly, “Hmmm… and what exactly did you have in mind, my dear?”

Seeing the tiredness that had overcome his face, Vanessa shook her head, leaning up on tip toes to brush a kiss against his cheek. “We shall discuss it over breakfast.”

“I shall look forward to it,” Malcolm responded, the ghost of a smile playing upon his lips. “Goodnight, my dear.”

He swept from the room before either Vanessa or Ethan could respond, although they watched the doorway for at least a few minutes after he had retreated, neither quite believing that the spell of luck they had recently endured had continued to last.

“Care to join me in our room, Mrs. Chandler?” Ethan murmured, cocking his head as he rose to his own feet and extended a hand to Vanessa, who turned to face him with an almost sigh tumbling from her lips.

“I confess I do not quite wish to close my eyes yet,” said Vanessa, cheeks flushing with something resembling embarrassment, “when I do, this day will finally be over… and it has been too long in coming.”

Ethan moved to stand behind her before he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his cheek to hers as he tried to navigate the almost endless amount of material that constituted her wedding gown. Not that he would have complained, since the sight of her walking down the aisle towards him would remain with him for the rest of his days.

“You looked beautiful today,” he informed her, delighting in the smile she turned to reward him with.

“I confess I am slightly loathed to take this gown off…” Vanessa grinned, toying with the lace and minute pearls that had been hand stitched into the bodice. She sighed almost wistfully. “Perhaps it’s time to purchase a new wardrobe. I have been in mourning for far too long. I have to believe that the future before us is a good one. So maybe at last it is time to embrace the light.”

Turning in his arms, she noted the adoration reflected in his eyes with delight.

“Whatever you wear, you’re the most exquisite thing I ever laid eyes on.” The sincerity in his voice was evident. Ethan Chandler had been enraptured by the mysterious Miss. Ives from their first meeting, and he was certain that that enchantment would not fade over time.

Vanessa slid her arms up his chest until she could knot her fingers behind his neck, leaning into him as far as her dress would allow. The atmosphere in the room changed, a sudden surge of desire passing between them that was palpable - but then Vanessa supposed that the coupling of the wolf and the scorpion could never be anything but.

Seizing the moment, Ethan curled his fingers around the back of her neck and coaxed her closer. They soon melted into a kiss that spoke of the promise of the night ahead. Drawing back a little breathlessly, Vanessa offered him an enigmatic smile.

“Perhaps I would quite like to retire for the evening after all.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded, pressing a trail of kisses down the side of her neck, his hand blindly sliding down to his chest where Vanessa had pressed her palm to his heart. Entwining their fingers together, Ethan brushed a final kiss to her lips before beginning to lead her towards the door. He assumed Sir Lyle and Victor would forgive them for not bidding them goodnight on this one, rather auspicious occasion.

Suddenly halting in her tracks, Vanessa spied a small, wooden box nestled between a pile of books and maps that sat bereft on a side table.

Instantly recognising it as containing a deck of her Tarot cards, she tugged on Ethan’s hand and instead led him over to the table. He appeared uncertain of her sudden change of heart only until he spied the object she reached for; of course Malcolm had kept them, unable to part with something that had such a visceral connection to their once late owner.

Vanessa opened the box and picked up the cards, the weight of them in her palm feeling both familiar and yet alien. She would always be connected to the other side, would always have that understanding of other worldly things that others shied away from, and part of her would always slip between this world and the demimonde. But the fear of what lay beneath that gift, what was waiting in the darkness to strike, was now almost entirely absent.

Lost in thought, Vanessa found she had already shuffled and cut the cards. She removed her left hand from the deck and found her right hand sweeping them out in a broad ark across the table with well-practised ease. Ethan watched her closely, narrowing his eyes as she settled her crystalline gaze on his.

“Care to indulge your wife, Mr. Chandler?” She nodded down towards the cards, and Ethan felt his lips twitch upwards into a smile.

Instinctively he went to reach for a card, yet then he halted, recalling her words to him in the drawing room not long after their first meeting. Pausing for a moment he let his hand hover over the cards, noting how a strange warmth seemed to emanate from one of them as he passed his hand over the spread deck. Moving back to that one card, he kept his eyes trained on Vanessa’s as he turned it over.

She peered down at the face of the card and that same knowing smile graced her lips.

He followed her gaze and then he too smiled.

‘The Lovers’.

Perhaps they had always been fated to be together, perhaps they had both always known it could end no other way. The wolf of God and the scorpion - destined to love each other despite the claws, talons, and stingers they possessed, and the curses that overwhelmed them. The only light in each other’s darkness - a place for the other to find salvation.

Sensing the mood about to turn melancholy, Vanessa ran her fingertips down Ethan’s arm until her touch just ghosted the edge of his hand.

“I’m in need of some night work,” she began, keeping an admirably straight face at the double entendre as he let out a puff of laughter at the recollection.

Shaking his head in amusement, Ethan Chandler swept his new bride up into his arms and his heart rejoiced at the sound of her laughter and the feel of her in his arms. He advanced eagerly towards the staircase, easily recalling the conversation between himself and the woman he had somehow known even then that he would love.

“ _Oh honey, aren’t we all_?!”

 

 

 


End file.
